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^ 


NORSEMAN'S  PILGRIMAGE. 


BY 
HJALMAR  HJORTH  BOYESEN, 


NEW  YORK: 

SHELDON   &   COMPANY. 
1875. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1875,  by 

SHELDON  &   COMPANY, 
in  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


NKWBURGH  STEREOTYPE  Co. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

PACK 

In  Search  of  a  Margaret 7 

CHAPTER  II. 
Retrospect 15 

CHAPTER  III. 
A  Day  at  Wartburg 38 

CHAPTER  IV. 
From  Wartburg  to  Leipsic 56 

CHAPTER  V. 
In  Rosenthal 76 

CHAPTER  VI. 
Brother  Jonathan 's  Ball 100 

CHAPTER  VII. 
Ruth's  Journal 124 


2041? 


4  Contents. 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

FAGS 

The  Catastrophe J33 

CHAPTER  IX. 
To  the  Rescue      .'"' I5I 

CHAPTER  X. 
The  Clock  Strikes l67 

CHAPTER  XL 
The  Cathedral  Tower l87 

CHAPTER  XII. 
The  Land  of  the  Vikings 212 

CHAPTER  XIII. 
Ruth's  Arrival 237 

CHAPTER  XIV. 
The  Glacier  Expedition       .  •       .        .        •        •         .262 

CHAPTER  XV. 
Conclusion 291 


A   NORSEMAN'S   PILGRIMAGE. 


CHAPTER  I. 
In  Search  of  a  Margaret. 

LAF  VARBERG  had  been  reading  "  Faust " 
since  the  early  dawn.  He  knew  it  was  not 
exactly  the  right  thing  to  do  on  a  Sunday,  but 
Germany  had  had  rather  a  demoralizing  effect 
upon  him,  and  during  his  six  months'  stay  in 
Leipsic  the  original  rigor  of  his  notions  about 
the  sanctity  of  the  Sabbath  had  perceptibly 
relaxed.  It  was  about  ten  o'clock  in  the  fore- 
noon. The  sun  shone  brightly,  but  to  Olaf 
Varberg's  eyes  it  wore  a  look  of  perplexity, 
and  he  could  not  get  rid  of  the  idea  that  it 
was  staring  directly  at  him,  as  much  as  to  say 
that  it  was  surprised  to  see  him.  He  leisurely 
sauntered  down  the  promenade  An  der  Pleisse. 
The  crisp  snow  crackled  under  his  feet  (a  very 


8  A  Norseman's  Pilgrimage. 

unusual  thing,  by  the  way,  for  Leipsic)  and  the 
tall  trees  of  the  avenue  now  and  then  shook 
little  whimsical  showers  of  hoar-frost  down 
over  the  hats  of  the  Sunday-dressed  idlers. 
In  the  middle  of  the  street,  people  had  gathered 
in  groups  of  fours  and  fives,  and  stood  gazing 
through  lorgnettes  and  opera  glasses  at  a  bal- 
loon which  was  just  rising  over  the  house-tops. 
They  seemed  to  be  thoroughly  in  earnest ;  their 
faces  wore  an  air  of  profound  meditation,  and 
they  occasionally  removed  their  glasses  in  order 
to  discuss  the  phenomenon  with  their  neighbors 
in  a  manner  which  might  have  led  you  to  sup- 
pose that  it  was  a  matter  of  the  gravest  scien- 
tific import.  Students  with  skyblue  or  scarlet 
caps,  and  with  deep  scars  in  their  faces,  lounged 
up  and  down  the  promenade,  leisurely  smoking 
their  Sunday  cigar,  and  staring  impudently  at 
the  passing  maidens.  But  Varberg  saw  nothing 
of  all  this.  The  animated  scenes  of  the  street 
moved  before  his  eyes  like  an  unmeaning  pa- 
geantry. His  lungs  seemed  still  to  breathe  the 
mediaeval  atmosphere  of  the  great  tragedy,  and 
with  a  very  pardonable  substitution'  of  "  her"  for 
"  him,"  he  kept  repeating  to  himself  this  stanza : 


In  Search  of  a  Margaret.  9 

My  bosom  yearns 
For  her  alone, 
Ah,  dared  I  clasp  her, 
And  hold,  and  own!* 

The  verse  hummed  and  buzzed  in  his  ears ; 
it  exerted  an  almost  painful  fascination  over  him, 
not  unlike  the  feeling  he  had  had  when,  on  the 
way  across  the  Atlantic,  the  propeller  of  the 
steamboat,  with  a  nightmarish  regularity,  had 
persisted  in  drumming  Richard  Rushmore, 
Richard  Rushmore,  the  name  of  one  of  the 
passengers  on  board.  He  had  been  afraid  of 
that  man  ever  afterward. 

Varberg  had  for  years  had  a  passionate 
yearning  for  Germany ;  it  had  ever  been  a  land 
of  promise  to  him — the  home  of  art,  roman- 
ticism, and  poetry.  "  A  fair-haired  German 
maiden  "  had  always  been  his  ideal  of  womanly 
loveliness  and  perfection  ;  and  now  he  had  been 
nearly  three  months  in  Germany  and  had  not 
yet  found  anything  which  even  approached  that 
much-cherished  ideal.  To  be  sure,  he  didn't 
know  many  German  ladies;  but  those  whom 
he  did  know  were  insufferably  dull.  Now  he 
must  be  daring,  or  take  the  chance  of  losing  his 

*  Taylor's  translation. 
1* 


io         A  Norseman's  Pilgrimage. 

opportunity  ;  he  must  keep  his  eyes  open,  then 
take  a  bold  step,  as  Faust  did  at  the  church 
door,  and  for  the  rest  trust  to  fortune.  Still, 
^Varberg  had  no  intention  of  giving  his  love 
romance  a  tragic  denouement ;  he  was  well  satis- 
fled  to  have  it  end,  in  the  old  conventional  way, 
with  a  happy  marriage.  "  The  age  of  Margarets 
can  certainly  not  be  past,"  said  he  to  himself, 
"  and  that  beautiful  simplicity  which  is  a  peculiar 
trait  of  the  Germans  is  a  thing  which  can  hardly 
be  overrated  in  this  blast  age  of  ours." 

Amid  such  meditations  Varberg  had  reached 
the  Opera  Platz,  and  was  about  to  change  his 
course  toward  Rosenthal,  when  suddenly  he 
observed  a  young  lady  crossing  the  street  and 
advancing  toward  him.  She  was  tastefully  and 
fashionably  dressed,  was  tall  and  well  formed, 
but  her  features  were  of  a  clearer,  more  decided 
cut  than  one  usually  finds  in  Germany.  Varberg 
came  to  a  sudden  stop,  and  looked  at  her  with 
an  expression  as  if  he  were  inclined  to  doubt  the 
evidence  of  his  senses.  She  dropped  her  eyes 
and  turned  her  face  away  as  she  passed  him. 
Under  other  circumstances  he  would  never  have 
thought  of  pursuing  a  lady;  but  in  the  uncer- 


In  Search  of  a  Margaret.  1 1 

tain  glamour  of  romance  which  to-day  had  pos- 
sessed his  mind,  he  had  an  absurd  sense  of  his 
own  irresponsibility,  and,  little  heeding  whatever 
scruples  might  still  have  been  lurking  in  the 
depth  of  his  heart,  he  deliberately  turned  on  his 
heel  and  followed  close  after  her  down  the  snow- 
sparkling  avenue.  And  was  she  then  so  strik- 
ingly beautiful  ?  Yes ;  there  dwelt  in  her  fea- 
tures a  subtle,  indefinable  charm,  which  upon 
Varberg,  at  least,  made  the  impression  of  beauty. 
He  could  hardly  have  told,  an  hour  later,  whether 
her  nose  was  straight  or  curved,  but  neverthe- 
less the  total  impression  remained  indelibly  fixed 
in  his  memory. 

The  bells  of  St.  Thomas  began  to  chime, 
and  the  young  girl  hastened  down  the  street, 
directing  her  steps  toward  the  church  door. 
Varberg,  without  questioning  the  propriety  of 
what  he  was  doing,  also  doubled  his  speed, 
and  entered  the  venerable  edifice ;  with  charac- 
teristic masculine  obtuseness  he  even  imagined 
himself  unobserved,  and  began  to  revolve  in  his 
mind  how  he  should  in  the  most  delicate  manner 
attract  her  attention,  without  shocking  her  sensi- 
bility or  disturbing  her  devotions.  The  grand 


12          A.  Norsemaris  Pilgrimage. 

( orchestra  was  just  performing  in  St.  Thomas 
that  day,  and  the  church  was  consequently 
crowded.  The  Leipsickers  usually  leave  when 
the  music  is  finished,  and  only  a  few  women 
and  children  remain  to  listen  to  the  sermon. 
As  the  crowd  in  the  aisle  began  to  disperse, 
Varberg  looked  about  him  in  the  hope  of  dis- 
covering his  fair  unknown  ;  but  for  awhile  his 
search  was  vain.  A  sense  of  desperate  reck- 
lessness came  over  him.  "  She  shall  not  escape 
me,"  he  murmured  fiercely,  and  with  great 
strides  approached  the  door  at  the  opposite 
end  of  the  transept. 

Then  suddenly  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  fur- 
trimmed  bonnet,  which  he  thought  he  recognized, 
and  saw  a  slender  figure  almost  hid  in  the  sha- 
dow of  a  huge  column.  It  was  she  ;  she  pressed 
herself  more  tightly  up  against  the  stone  as  he 
drew  near,  but  still  she  did  not  appear  to  observe 
him ;  her  eyes  were  steadfastly  fixed  on  the 
hymn  book.  His  resolution  was  quickly  formed ; 
he  slackened  his  speed,  and,  as  if  quite  by  ac- 
cident, dropped  down  into  the  seat  on  the  other 
side  of  the  pillar.  The  congregation  began  to 
chant  in  a  sort  of  feeble,  irregular  way,  and 


In  Search  of  a  Margaret.  13 

Varberg  felt  an  irresistible  desire  to  beat  the 
measure  with  his  foot.  The  fact  was,  he  had 
no  sooner  sat  down  than  conscientious  scruples 
woke  within  him;  and  as  men  are  apt  to  do 
when  finding  themselves  in  an  absurd  situation, 
he  tried  to  forget  one  absurdity  by  venting  his 
energies  on  another.  He  did  not  observe  that 
the  people  in  the  neighboring  pews  were  all 
gazing  at  him,  neither  did  he  see  the  shocked 
expression  in  their  pious  countenances.  "  Er  ist 
Auslander"  (he  is  a  foreigner),  he  heard  some- 
body whispering  behind  him,  and  looking  up  he 
met  the  eye  of  an  old  gray-headed  beadle,  who 
had  just  entered  the  pew,  and  had  stopped  in 
front  of  him : 

"Mein  Herr,"  said  the  man,  "this  is  the 
women's  side.  You  are  disturbing  the  worship, 
and  I  must  request  you  to  leave  the  church." 

Varberg  awoke  as  from  a  dream,  jumped  up 
from  his  seat,  and  the  blood  rushed  to  his  head 
and  throbbed  violently  in  his  temples.  He  sud- 
denly realized  where  he  was.  Throwing  a  glance 
at  the  other  side  of  the  pillar,  he  saw  the  unknown 
lady  covering  her  face  with  her  handkerchief  and 
shaking  with  suppressed  laughter. 


14          A  Norseman's  Pilgrimage. 

"  You  must  come  at  once,"  said  the  beadle, 
as  the  other  hesitated  to  obey  the  order. 

The  situation  was  evidently  bad  enough ; 
and  Varberg  had  sense  enough  left  to  know  that 
resistance  would  make  it  worse.  So,  summoning 
all  the  calmness  that  was  still  at  his  disposal,  he 
quietly  picked  up  his  hat,  and  majestically 
marched  out  of  the  church.  But  no  sooner  had  he 
reached  the  street  than  his  folly  stood  before  him 
in  all  its  terrible  magnitude.  Like  a  madman  he 
rushed  down  the  avenue,  and  barely  escaped 
being  challenged  by  a  couple  of  students,  whom 
he  ran  against  without  asking  their  pardon.  Hav- 
ing gained  the  house  where  he  lived,  he  rang  the 
bell  furiously,  not  remembering  that  he  carried 
the  key  in  his  pocket.  The  meek  little  landlady 
stared  wonderingly  at  him  as  he  slammed  the 
door  behind  him  and  breathlessly  hurried  into 
his  room.  There  he  found  "  Faust  "  lying  open 
upon  the  table,  where  he  had  left  it  in  the  morn- 
ing. He  seized  the  book,  and  in  a  fit  of  indigna- 
tion hurled  it  against  the  wall,  so  that  the  leaves 
flew  about  his  ears. 

"  The  devil  take  all  the  German  Margarets," 
he  cried.  "  It  was  the  first  time  I  set  out  in 
search  of  an  adventure,  and  it  shall  be  the  last." 


Retrospect*  15 

CHAPTER  IL 
Retrospect. 

"T7OUR  months  had  passed,  and  the  spring 
•*•  had  come.  To  Varberg  these  had  been  long 
and  weary  months ;  and  although  he  had  plunged 
deeply  into  German  literature  and  philosophy, 
and  made  excellent  use  of  his  time,  he  still  was 
painfully  aware  of  the  emptiness  of  his  existence, 
and  heartily  yearned  for  something  to  break  its 
monotony.  A  hundred  times  he  bad  resolved 
forever  to  banish  the  Margaret  adventure  from 
his  thought,  and  a  hundred  times  he  had  per- 
suaded himself  that  he  had  actually  succeeded. 
Nevertheless  he  bad  persistently  haunted  the 
churches  and  the  promenades  on  Sundays  and 
week  days,  and  always  with  a  half  confessed  desire 
to  catch  another  glimpse  of  the  fair  lady  whose 
first  impression  of  him,  he  suspected,  must  have 
been  anything  but  favorable.  He  had  a  vague 
idea  that  merely  seeing  her  a  second  time  would 


1 6          A  Norseman's  Pilgrimage. 

necessarily  correct  this  impression ;  he  was 
convinced  that  his  wishes  went  no  further,  and 
that  the  fascination  which  she  had  exercised 
over  him  at  their  first  meeting  had  been  nothing 
but  the  whim  of  a  morbidly  overwrought  fancy. 
It  was  all  due  to  "  Faust,"  he  thought,  and  he 
had  carefully  shunned  the  book  forever  after- 
ward. But  now  spring  had  come,  and  nature 
was  awakening  to  a  stronger  and  more  conscious 
life.  And  Varberg  too  felt  his  blood  running 
more  swiftly  in  his  veins ;  bolder  fancies  flitted 
through  his  brain,  and  a  vague  restlessness  dif- 
fused itself  through  all  his  being.  It  was  the 
old  Norse  blood  which  was  stirring,  and  like  his 
Viking  fathers  he  yearned  for  great  deeds,  and 
planned  wide  excursions  over  the  land  and  over 
the  sea.  His  first  choice  fell  upon  Wartburg. 

Olaf  Varberg  was,  as  has  already  been 
hinted,  by  birth  a  Norwegian.  His  childhood 
had  been  spent  on  the  fjords  of  Norway,  where 
the  grand  solemnity  of  nature  had  tended  to 
foster  a  certain  brooding  disposition  of  his  mind. 
Every  hill,  every  stone,  and  every  tree  was  a 
monument  of  past  heroism,  or  at  least  to  his 
wakeful  sense  suggested  some  untold  record  of 


Retrospect.  17 

the  Norseman's  forgotten  glory.  Not  a  hundred 
steps  from  his  home  stood  King  Bele's  venerable 
tomb,  and  on  this  very  strand,  where  so  often 
he  had  sat  pensively  gazing  down  into  the  blue 
deep,  it  was  that  Frithjof  landed  in  the  summer 
nights,  and  hastened  to  those  forbidden  meet- 
ings with  his  beloved  hi  Balder 's  grove;  and 
not  very  far  from  the  house  there  was  a  huge 
birch,  which  certainly  must  have  been  centuries 
old.  It  grew  upon  a  green  hillock  which  the 
boy  fancied  looked  like  a  tomb.  Here,  under 
this  tree,  he  had  spent  perhaps  the  happiest 
moments  of  his  life.  In  the  long,  light  summer 
evenings  he  would  sit  there  for  hours,  listening 
to  the  strange,  soft  melodies  of  the  wind  as  it 
breathed  through  the  full-leafed  crown. 

He  felt  sure  that  it  was  a  Scald  who  was 
buried  hert;  for  in  the  songs  of  the  wind  he 
had  seemed  to  recognize  the  same  strain  that 
had  rung  in  his  ears  so  often,  while  reading  the 
Scaldic  lays  in  the  old  Sagas.  Then  strange 
emotions  would  thrill  through  his  breast;  he 
felt  that  he  was  himself  a  Scald,  and  that  he  was 
destined  to  revive  the  expiring  song  and  the 
half-forgotten  traditions  of  the  great  old  time. 


1 8          A  Norseman's  Pilgrimage. 

When  he  was  twelve  years  old  he  had  himself 
written  a  long  poem  which  he  had  entitled 
"  The  Saga  of  the  Scald."  He  had  only  ven- 
tured to  read  it  to  his  grandmother,  but  she  had 
cried  over  it  for  a  whole  day,  and  that  he  felt  to 
be  a  great  reward.  His  next  effort  was  a  tragedy 
in  which  the  hero  was  killed  in  the  first  act,  and 
was  a  ghost  in  the  remaining  four.  His  grand- 
father, in  whose  house  he  had  been  brought  up, 
did  not  look  with  so  favorable  an  eye  upon  his 
poetic  labors,  and  even  did  everything  in  his 
power  to  discourage  them. 

The  old  Mr.  Varberg  had  had  but  one  son, 
Olaf's  father.  But  this  son  had  been  a  wild  and 
unruly  spirit,  and  during  his  lifetime  had  been 
a  source  of  infinite  vexation  and  grief  to  the 
worthy  old  man.  The  one  desire  of  his  mind 
had  been  to  become  an  artist ;  and  when  his 
father  had  refused  to  furnish  him  the  means  for 
going  abroad,  he  had  sold  his  furniture  and  his 
law-books,  and  had  started  out  in  the  world  as 
a  regular  adventurer.  During  his  stay  in  France 
he  had  caught  the  spirit  of  the  revolution,  and 
had  at  last  returned  home  full  of  enthusiasm  for 
liberty  and  the  rights  of  men.  Now  the  old  Mr, 


Retrospect.  1 9 

Varberg  had  always  been  a  stanch  conservative, 
and  hated  the  revolution  with  all  his  soul.  He 
was  thoroughly  convinced  that  Norway  was  the 
freest  and  happiest  land  on  the  earth,  and  that 
the  existing  state  of  things  left  nothing  to  be 
desired ;  the  son,  on  the  contrary,  was  never 
weary  of  pointing  out  a  thousand  instances  of 
injustice  and  abuse,  and  his  heart  yearned  to 
sacrifice  life  and  happiness  for  the  cherished 
cause  of  human  liberty.  Both  were  strong  and 
determined  men,  and  equally  unwilling  to  yield  ; 
and  one  may  easily  imagine  what  must  have 
been  the  relation  of  the  two  under  such  cir- 
cumstances. 

It  is  not  necessary  here  to  recount  the  long 
and  manly  struggles  and  the  dire  failures  of  the 
younger  Varberg  in  his  efforts  to  plant  the  flag 
of  the  revolution  in  the  Norse  soil.  Suffice  it  to 
say  that  one  day  the  sweet  face  of  a  Norse  maiden 
sunk  deeply  into  his  heart,  and  that  in  his  mar- 
riage with  her  he  found  the  happiness  which  he 
had  vainly  sought  in  his  unselfish  devotion  to 
the  cause  of  our  common  humanity.  He  again 
took  up  the  study  of  law,  was  zealous  in  his 
supervision  of  the  extensive  estate  which  his 


2O          A  Norseman's  Pilgrimage. 

father  hoped  soon  to  give  over  into  his  hands, 
and  promised  fair  to  become  the  pattern  of  a 
husband,  and  an  order-loving  citizen.  The  old 
man's  joy  knew  no  bounds ;  but  he  was  careful 
not  to  show  either  surprise  or  delight ;  he  rather 
seemed  to  regard  the  change  as  a  matter  of 
course,  and  even  hinted  that  he  had  foreseen  it 
from  the  very  beginning.  But  little  did  he  know 
of  the  combat  which  it  had  cost  the  son  thus  to 
abandon  one  by  one  the  cherished  hopes  of  his 
youth,  and  still  less  did  he  suspect  the  ferment 
which  was  even  now  stirring  at  the  bottom  of 
that  strong  and  generous  soul.  The  relation, 
however,  between  the  two  never  became  a  cor- 
dial one  ;  they  talked  mostly  on  indifferent  sub- 
jects, and  the  hopes  and  desires  which  lay  near- 
est to  the  hearts  of  both  they  seldom  broached 
to  each  other. 

Then  an  event  occurred  which  rudely  tore 
the  veil  from  the  old  man's  eyes,  and  again  re- 
vealed to  him  the  great  gulf  which  separated 
him  from  his  son.  After  a  marriage  of  five  years 
the  latter's  wife  died,  leaving  behind  her  two 
children,  Olaf  the  son,  and  a  daughter  Brynhild. 
It  was  the  love  of  his  wife  which  had  bound  het 


Retrospect.  2 1 

husband  to  his  old  home,  and  had  reconciled  his 
large  and  light-loving  soul  to  a  life  in  a  narrow- 
minded  and  bigoted  society.  Now  the  old  rest- 
lessness awoke  within  him;  his  early  longings 
began  to  stir  in  his  bosom,  and  suddenly  he 
packed  his  trunk  and  again  started  out  in  search 
of  the  lost  ideals  of  his  youth.  But  he  was  des- 
tined to  experience  fresh  disappointments.  The 
blind  reaction  which  in  Europe  had  succeeded 
the  enthusiasm  of  the  revolution  disheartened 
and  disgusted  him,  and  he  was  just  on  the  point 
of  bidding  farewell  to  all  that  his  heart  held  dear, 
when  suddenly  the  thought  struck  him  that 
there  was  still  one  land  remaining  which  once 
had  received  the  gospel  of  liberty  with  willing 
ears.  And  he  threw  one  last  sad  glance  at  the 
old  world,  and  embarked  for  America. 

His  children  in  the  meanwhile  had  remained 
behind  in  Norway,  and  they  thrived  and  grew 
strong  under  the  ever-watchful  care  of  their 
anxious  grand-parents.  The  old  Mr.  Varberg, 
who  prided  himself  on  his  name  and  his  blood, 
took  an  intense  satisfaction  in  seeing  the  family 
features  and  even  its  hereditary  faults  repeated 
in  his  grandson.  He  observed  that  Olaf  had  a 


22          A  Norseman's  Pilgrimage. 

frank  and  a  generous  mind,  and  this  observation 
was  a  source  of  ever  fresh  delight  to  him,  not 
because  frankness  and  generosity  were  morally 
commendable  qualities,  but  rather  because  all 
the  Varbergs  had  been  frank  and  generous.  Olaf 
also  had  a  large  nose,  which  is  not  generally  re- 
garded as  a  mark  of  beauty  ;  but  the  grandfather 
also  delighted  in  this  feature,  because  he  believed 
that  there  was  a  peculiar  virtue  in  the  family  nose. 
The  only  thing  which  displeased  him  in 
Olaf's  character  was  his  tendency  to  solitary 
brooding,  and  his  love  of  poetry.  And  he  feared 
these  traits  the  more,  not  only  because  they  had, 
as  he  thought,  led  his  son  astray,  but  because  in 
his  youth  he  had  been  conscious  of  similar  things 
lurking  in  some  remote  corner  of  his  own  mind. 
With  him  an  early  marriage  and  continued  pros- 
perity had  quelled  the  unruly  longings ;  but 
what  they  might  lead  to,  his  son's  sad  career 
sufficiently  proved.  The  only  artistic  enjoyment 
which  the  elder  Varberg  allowed  himself  to  in- 
dulge in  was  music;  and  he  had  succeeded  in 
convincing  himself  that  this  art  was  in  no  way 
akin  to  poetry  and  revolution.  He  was  always 
wont  to  class  these  two  terms  together. 


Retrospect.  23 

He  had  himself  a  most  sensitive  ear,  and 
played  the  violin  and  violoncello  to  perfection. 
Every  Wednesday  evening  he  used  to  gather  all 
the  musical  dilfltanti  of  the  neighborhood  in  his 
house,  and  play  with  them  Beethoven's  quartets 
and  Haydn's  trios  until  midnight.  Olaf  and 
Brynhild  were  soon  needed  for  the  piano  parts, 
and  he  willingly  paid  them  a  quarter  of  a  dollar 
an  hour  for  practising.  Among  the  boy's  earliest 
recollections  were  these  musical  soirfrs,  and  the 
strange  faces  his  grandfather  made  when  he 
played  the  violoncello. 

Since  it  had  become  definitely  known  that 
the  younger  Varberg  had  gone  to  America,  his 
name  was  seldom  heard  in  his  old  home.  Only 
his  mother  would  occasionally  refer  to  something 
which  he  had  wo'n,  or  something  which  he  had 
been  fond  of  in  his  student  days,  and  would 
then  invariably  speak  of  him  only  as  he,  with  a 
peculiar  emphasis. 

"  That  was  one  of  his  fancies,  too,  poor  boy," 
she  would  say ;  "  he  always  liked  me  best  in  my 
old  moire  antique ;  and  when  that  was  at  last 
worn  out,  he  would  persist  in  calling  all  those 
dresses  of  mine  which  he  liked  moire  antiques" 


24         A  Norseman"1*  Pilgrimage. 

And  she  would  heave  a  sigh  of  resignation,, 
and  dismiss  the  subject. 

On  the  days  when  Olaf  received  letters  from 
his  father,  a  profound  silence  always  reigned  at 
the  dinner-table,  until  at  last  the  old  gentleman 
would  lay  down  knife  and  fork  and  ask,  "  Is  he 
well  ? "  And  Olaf  would  answer  in  the  same 
solemn  tone,  "  He  is  well ;  "  whereto  the  grand- 
mother would  add  an  "  Amen,"  "  God  be  praised," 
or  some  similar  devout  phrase.  Little  did  the  old 
people  suspect  what  an  influence  these  letters 
were  to  have  upon  the  boy's  future  life.  There 
was  a  grand  sweep  and  a  fervor  in  these  lines 
which  fell  like  flames  into  his  mind,  kindling  it 
to  nobler  resolves,  and  wakening  to  life  the  good 
germs  which  still  lay  slumbering  in  its  soil.  The 
image  of  this  absent  father,  with  his  broad  pen- 
sive forehead,  his  thick  light  beard,  and  the  dark 
blue  eyes  with  that  strange  flash  in  them,  still 
dimly  lived  in  his  memory,  and  it  often  appeared 
to  him  that  there  was  but  the  helmet  and  the 
mantle  lacking  to  make  it  the  perfect  likeness  of 
a  hero  from  the  Saga's  golden  times. 

Then  one  day — it  was  in  the  year  1862 — 
there  came  a  letter  with  American  stamps  on  it, 


Retrospect.  25 

which  suddenly  threw  the  family  into  the  great- 
est consternation.  It  informed  Olaf  that  his  fa- 
ther had  enlisted  as  a  private  in  the  war,  and  that 
he  had  made  arrangements  with  a  reliable  friend, 
who,  in  case  of  his  death,  would  write  to  Norway 
and  deliver  his  affairs  over  into  the  proper  hands. 
"  I  am  happier,"  he  wrote,  "  than  I  have  ever 
been  before.  For  I  have  at  last  found  a  cause 
worth  dying  for."  And  in  the  year  1863  came 
the  letter  announcing  his  death ;  he  was  killed 
on  the  field  in  the  battle  of  Gettysburg.  A  slip 
of  paper  bearing  the  date  of  the  day  before  the 
engagement,  and  addressed  to  his  son,  had  been 
found  on  his  breast.  It  read  as  follows : 

MY  DEAR  BOY  :  When  this  reaches  you,  the  hand  which 
writes  it  will  be  cold  and  dead.  My  life  has  been  fall  of  error, 
sorrow,  and  disappointment,  and  still  I  venture  to  call  myself  a 
happy  man.  For  my  career  has  been  an  unceasing  pursuit  of 
that  which  I  have  loved  above  all  other  things,  truth  and  liberty. 
And  my  joy  in  this  moment  is  the  thought  that  I  have  a  son  who 
will  find  in  clearness  that  which  I  groped  for  in  the  twilight — a 
son  who  will  finish  the  work  which  I  have  left  undone.  I  am 
convinced  that  America  is  the  land  of  the  future,  and  in  spite  of 
injustice,  abuse,  and  corruption,  there  is  health  and  strength 
enough  in  this  nation  to  lift  the  whole  world  ;  I  mean  to  raise  it 
to  a  higher  view  of  itself,  and  of  the  destiny  of  mankind.  There- 
fore my  last  prayer  to  you  is,  that  yon  should,  as  soon  as  you 
have  finished  your  college  course,  embark  for  New  York,  and 
spend  one  year  here,  travelling  about  the  country,  and  malring 


26          A  Norseman^  Pilgrimage. 

yourself  acquainted  with  its  people  and  its  institutions.     If  you 

write  to  my  friend  Dr.  C ,  in  Boston,  he  will  furnish  you  with 

money.  I  have  left  five  thousand  dollars  for  you  in  his  hands. 
I  feel  as  confident  that  you  will  fulfil  this  my  last  wish  as  if  I  had 
your  spoken  promise.  If  at  the  end  of  a  year  you  prefer  to  re- 
turn to  Norway,  you  will  at  least  return  a  wiser  man  than  you 
left ;  if  you  decide  to  remain,  God  will  also  find  a  work  for  you 
to  do  here.  I  rely  upon  His  guidance.  Here  on  the  broad 
arena  of  life  you  are  nearer  to  the  world's  great  heart,  and  hear 
with  joy  its  mighty  pulsations  ;  the  horizon  of  your  mind  widens, 
the  grand  possibilities  of  your  nature  develop  faster,  and  you 
become  a  larger  and  a  stronger  man. 

I  have  a  presentiment  that  my  life  is  drawing  to  its  close.  But 
if,  as  God  grant,  you  grow  up  to  be  a  noble  and  liberty-lov- 
ing man,  I  shall  live  in  you  and  in  your  children.  Farewell ! 
God  bless  you. 

Your  loving 

FATHER. 

Olaf  did  not  show  this  letter  to  his  grand- 
parents. It  is  needless  to  say  that  it  made  a 
deep  impression  upon  him  ;  he  hid  it  in  his  bosom, 
and  carried  it  there  ever  afterward.  A  few 
months  later  he  entered  college,  and  soon  became 
the  leader  of  the  democratic  faction  among  the 
students.  His  eloquence  and  his  winning  man- 
ner, as  well  as  the  high  standing  of  his  family, 
made  him  welcome  everywhere,  and  he  gained 
access  to  the  best  society  of  the  capital.  But 
amid  all  the  noise  and  gayety  of  these  years  the 
solemn  voice  of  his  dead  father  seemed  to  call 


Retrospect.  27 

to  him  from  afar,  and  to  remind  him  of  the  great 
responsibility  which  rested  upon  him.  In  the 
summer  vacations  he  returned  home,  and  spent 
the  long  bright  days  rowing  about  on  the  fjord, 
dreaming  of  the  past,  and  maturing  his  plans  for 
the  future.  Fate  had  placed  him  in  a  strange  po- 
sition, and  he  often  violently  accused  himself 
and  felt  as  if  he  were  a  traitor  ;  for  he  could  not 
confide  to  his  grandparents,  whom  he  owed  so 
much,  that  which  was  stirring  within  him ;  and 
to  abandon  his  resolution  would  be  treason  to 
his  father's  memory.  And  when  restlessness 
and  unhappiness  oppressed  him,  he  poured  forth 
his  soul  in  song,  and  his  songs  touched  the  hearts 
and  gained  him  no  small  reputation  among  his 
fellow  students. 

Then  at  last  came  the  terrible  day,  when, 
after  having  graduated  with  distinction,  he 
returned  home,  pulled  from  his  bosom  the  fatal 
letter,  and  unburdened  his  heart.  His  grand- 
mother wept  and  sobbed ;  then  took  medicine 
and  went  to  bed;  called  him  cruel  and  ungrate- 
ful in  one  moment,  and  in  the  next  her  own  dear, 
blessed  child.  But  his  resolution  was  formed, 
and  he  remained  firm.  His  grandfather's  grief 


28          A  Norsemaris  Pilgrimage. 

was  not  so  noisy ;  but  it  was  deep  and  genuine, 
and  Olaf  once  came  very  near  yielding ;  for  it 
was  painful  to  see  the  old  man  sitting  there 
so  pale  and  distracted  in  his  chair,  and  then, 
as  soon  as  any  one  entered  the  room,  waking 
up  suddenly  and  make  a  desperate  effort  to 
appear  cheerful  and  unconcerned.  One  thing, 
however,  Olaf  was  induced  to  promise,  and  that 
was  to  remain  at  home  during  the  winter,  and 
to  defer  his  journey  until  spring.  The  household 
soon  again  lapsed  into  its  usual  routine,  and 
the  subject  which  had  lately  agitated  it  seemed 
to  have  dropped  out  of  every  one's  memory. 
But  what  is  hidden  is  not  forgotten,  says  a 
Norwegian  proverb ;  and  Olaf  did  not  fail  to 
detect  a  secret  uneasiness  which  manifested 
itself  in  an  over-anxious  care  for  his  comfort, 
and  in  the  somewhat  strained  efforts  on  the  part 
of  the  family  to  amuse  and  distract  him  ;  and 
one  of  these  efforts,  although  indeed  it  had 
for  its  object  a  more  serious  thing  than  amuse- 
ment, is  perhaps  worthy  of  being  recorded. 

One  of  the  most  zealous  participants  in  Mr. 
Varberg's  muscial  soirees  was  the  old  Colonel 
Haraldson.  He  was,  next  to  Mr.  Varberg,  the 


Retrospect.  29 

wealthiest  man  in  the  parish,  and  had  an  only 
daughter,  Thora,  to  whom  Olaf  had  in  his  boy- 
hood addressed  numerous  sonnets  and  serenades. 
Miss  Thora  was  a  pretty,  fair-haired  Norse  dam- 
sel, and  had  on  her  part  shown  no  disinclination 
to  become  the  object  of  the  young  man's  admira- 
tion. During  his  college  years  she  had  been 
rather  more  shy  and  reserved  in  her  manner  to- 
ward him,  which  his  grandmother  regarded  as  a 
very  favorable  sign.  And  now,  when  it  was 
needful  at  any  price  to  keep  her  boy  from  run- 
ning away  from  her,  she — the  old  lady — deter- 
mined to  take  advantage  of  this  early  romance, 
and  with  his  sister's  aid  she  planned  a  little  cam- 
paign against  him. 

Thora  had  always  been  Brynhild's  bosom 
friend,  and  there  could  consequently,  to  out- 
siders, be  nothing  remarkable  in  her  coming 
almost  daily  to  the  parties  and  musicals  at  the 
Varberg  mansion.  Olaf,  who  was  wholly  unsus- 
picious, readily  ran  into  the  snare,  and  was  easily 
beguiled  into  sleigh-rides  and  excursions  by  land 
and  water,  on  which  the  two  young  ladies  invari- 
ably accompanied  him.  At  the  parties,  which  at 
this  season  were  very  frequent  among  the  officials 


30          A.  Norsemaris  Pilgrimage. 

and  landed  proprietors  of  the  parish,  he  was 
always  chosen  the  director  of  the  evening,  and 
at  his  sister's  request  he  never  refused  to  "  open 
the  ball"  with  the  Colonel's  daughter.  Thus 
the  winter  passed,  and  if  Olaf  had  not  been  too 
absorbed  in  his  plans  for  the  journey,  he  could  not 
have  failed  to  observe  that  Thora's  eyes  shone 
with  a  softer  and  tenderer  light  whenever  they 
met  his,  and  that  a  serene,  maidenly  joy  beamed 
from  her  countenance  whenever  his  arm  encir- 
cled her  in  the  dance.  But  indeed  Olaf  had  too 
much  to  think  of,  and  he  perceived  nothing. 
The  great  unknown  world  lay  before  him  in  the 
shimmering  light  of  a  dream,  in  which  the  ob- 
jects appeared  larger  and  of  grander  proportions, 
until  even  his  own  person  began  to  assume  the 
dimensions  of  a  hero,  and  the  voyage  he  was 
about  to  undertake  became  a  daring  cruise,  like 
those  of  the  Norse  Vikings  in  the  romantic  days 
of  old ;  and  in  such  a  mood  renunciation  is  easy. 
One  morning  in  March  Olaf  woke  up  late, 
after  having  spent  the  greater  part  of  the  night 
dancing  at  the  Colonel's.  He  was  not  a  little 
astonished  to  find  his  grandfather  seated  at  his 
bedside,  and  looking  at  him  with  an  expression 


Retrospect.  31 

of  almost  motherly  tenderness  in  his  features. 
He  had  evidently  been  sitting  there  for  a  long 
while.  "  Well,  my  boy,"  said  the  old  man, "  you 
have  slept  late  this  morning.  Youth  has  need 
of  sleep."  Olaf  yawned,  and  murmured  some- 
thing in  reply. 

"  I  have  come,"  continued  the  other,  "  to  tell 
you  how  gratified  I  am  to  know  that  you  have 
finally  made  up  your  mind  in  regard  to  the  mat- 
ter in  which  we  are  all  so  much  interested." 

Olaf  opened  his  eyes  wide  and  stared  in 
amazement  at  his  grandfather.  Could  it  be  pos- 
sible that  the  old  man  would  give  his  consent  to 
the  journey,  and  let  him  depart  in  peace  ? 

"  Your  grandmother  has  told  me  all  about  it, 
and  indeed  it  has  made  me  feel  at  least  ten  years 
younger.  Thora  is  an  excellent,  sensible  girl, 
and  she  belongs  to  one  of  the  best  and  oldest 
families  in  the  country.  You  know  that  I  am 
willing  to  give  up  the  house  to  you  at  any  time 
you  may  wish ;  or  if  you  should  prefer  a  house 
of  your  own " 

Olaf,  with  an  utterly  bewildered  air,  raised 
himself  on  his  elbows  and  tried  to  collect  his 
senses.  A  vague  sensation  as  if  a  great  misfor- 


32          A  Norsemaris  Pilgrimage. 

tune  had  befallen  him,  shot  through  his  brain- 
Was  it  possible  that  he  had  proposed  to  Thora 
without  knowing  it?  He  indeed  remembered 
that  some  such  thought  had  haunted  him  yes- 
terday during  the  waltz ;  and  had  she  now  come 
and  presented  herself  to  his  grandparents  as  their 
daughter-in-law  ? 

Old  Mr.  Varberg  in  the  meanwhile  became 
impatient,  and  began  to  pace  up  and  down  the 
floor. 

"  Well,  my  boy,"  he  exclaimed,  "you  don't 
seem  to  be  quite  awake  yet,  or  can  it  be  possible 
that  you  are  not  pleased  ?  " 

"  Indeed,  grandfather,  I  should  think  she 
might  have  waited  until  I  got  up  and  could 
have  come  for  her,"  cried  Olaf,  answering  his 
own  fear  rather  than  his  grandfather's  question. 
"  And  to  tell  the  truth,"  he  added  in  a  voice  of 
comic  despair,  "  I  don't  understand  a  word  of 
what  you  are  saying.  I  haven't  made  up  my 
mind  about  anything,  except  that  I  am  going 
to  America ;  and  if  you  will  give  your  consent 
to  that,  I  shall  be  very  much  obliged  to  you." 

"  My  dear  child,"  retorted  the  old  man  rather 
vehemently,  "  either  you  are  dreaming  or  I  am 


Retrospect.  33 

— or — or  your  grandmother.  I  must  utterly  have 
misunderstood  her." 

And  so  saying  he  rushed  out  of  the  room. 
It  would  be  tempting  to  rehearse  the  young 
Viking's  debate  with  himself  while  he  dressed 
that  morning.  The  first  vision  that  stole  into 
his  fancy  was  that  of  Thora  in  her  airy,  sylph- 
like  ball-costume ;  he  saw  the  tender  glance  in 
her  eyes,  saw  the  sweet  temptation  of  her  lips, 
and  the  golden  cross  around  her  neck,  which 
glittered  and  rose  and  fell  with  the  movement 
of  her  bosom.  In  the  next  moment  he  half  per- 
suaded himself  that  he  had  actually  whispered 
some  tender  word  in  her  ear,  as  she  leaned  on 
his  arm  in  the  waltz ;  that  he  had  proposed 
to  her  on  the  staircase  and  kissed  her  in  a 
corner,  just  as  they  carried  away  the  ice  cream  ; 
and  finally  that  she  had  promised  to  call  in  the 
morning,  but  would  tell  nobody  what  had  hap- 
pened except  Brynhild.  And  now  Brynhild 
had  evidently,  after  her  manner,  taken  the 
rest  of  the  family  into  her  confidence. 

While  diverting  himself  with  these  and 
other  possibilities,  he  finished  his  toilet  and 
went  to  the  window  to  raise  the  curtains.  It 


34          A  Norseman's  Pilgrimage. 

was  about  noon,  and  the  sun  shone  brightly 
into  the  room.  The  sea  dashed  against  the 
pier,  and  down  on  the  strand  the  waves  brawled 
in  loud-voiced  chorus.  The  Viking  longings 
again  awoke,  and  Thora's  beauty  and  loveliness 
looked  pale  as  the  foam  upon  the  beach.  It 
was  all  a  dream,  and  as  he  reviewed  the  events 
of  the  last  months  he  saw  the  whole  plot,  and 
he  owned  that  his  grandmother  had  played  her 
cards  skilfully.  The  old  heroism  asserted  its 
rights  within  him,  and  the  pleasing  fancies  of 
a  moment  ago  were  now  but  delusions  and  deceit. 
And  still  (shall  I  confess  it?)  in  some  corner  of 
his  heart  there  lurked  a  vague  regret  that  it  had 
not  all  been  true  and  real. 

"  Good  God,"  he  cried,  as  he  slammed  the 
door  after  him  and  walked  down  to  breakfast — 
"  Good  God,  what  a  brute  I  am  !  " 

This  consciousness,  however,  did  not  in  the 
least  influence  his  actions ;  that  same  day  the 
battle  was  fought,  and  the  end  of  it  was  that  his 
grandmother  had  to  quit  the  field,  and  his 
grandfather,  seeing  that  resistance  was  vain,  like- 
wise yielded. 

In  the  beginning  of  April,  Olaf  bade  farewell 


Retrospect.  35 

to  his  native  valley.  Thora  refused  to  see  him 
when  he  came  to  call  upon  her ;  but  the  evening 
before  he  sailed  she  probably  relented,  and  she 
met  him  "  by  accident,"  as  he  was  taking  his 
walk ;  and  if  rumor  be  true,  she  cried  over  him 
and  kissed  him  good-by. 

How  a  man  of  Olaf  s  fantastic  spirit,  and 
with  his  latent  romantic  tendencies,  would  fare  in 
a  land  like  America,  is  not  difficult  to  conjecture. 
Most  people  at  first  did  not  know  what  to  make 
of  him,  but  still  were  kind  to  him,  because  they 
found  him  entertaining  and  liked  to  exhibit  him 
as  a  curiosity.  The  fault,  however,  was  his  no 
less  than  theirs.  He  made  no  effort  to  throw  off 
or  even  to  step  out  of  his  narrow  national  shell, 
and  they  did  not  meet  him  half-way  and  thereby 
make  the  approach  easier.  And  in  his  dreary 
solitude  Olaf  sought  refuge  from  the  world  in 
his  old  talent,  that  of  song.  He  often  wrote 
night  after  night,  until  the  dawn  surprised  him  ; 
the  memories  of  the  fjord  and  the  valley  of  his 
childhood  returned  to  him  in  the  silence  of  the 
night ;  the  loors  *  echoed  between  the  moun- 

*  A  loor  is  a  long  wooden  horn,  wound  with  birch  bark, 
which  the  peasants  use  to  call  the  cattle  home  in  the  evening. 


36          A  Norseman's  Pilgrimage. 

tains,  the  Neck  played  in  the  cataracts,  and  the 
clear  cattle-bells  made  the  air  alive  with  music. 
The  unambitious  story  which  had  been  thus 
commenced  only  to  ease  an  overburdened  mind, 
gradually  grew  under  his  hands,  until  the  thought 
struck  him  that  it  might  perhaps  find  a  publisher. 
And  a  publisher  was  found. 

Varberg  spent  many  a  delightful  hour  in  con- 
jectures as  to  the  probable  fate  of  his  work,  and 
in  constructing  ingenious  theories  regarding  its 
influence  upon  the  future  of  American  literature. 
The  possibility  never  occurred  to  him  that  it 
might  fall  dead  from  the  press,  and  leave  no  more 
trace  behind  it  than  the  bubble  that  bursts  on 
the  sea.  Still,  whatever  its  fate  may  have  been 
in  the  great  world,  upon  Varberg  himself  it  did 
produce  a  most  marked  effect.  It  taught  him 
to  look  upon  himself  as  a  man  of  letters ;  it  re- 
vived all  the  early  dreams  of  his  childhood,  con- 
centrated his  energies,  and  clearly  defined  the 
aim  and  object  of  his  life. 

And  strange  to  say,  this  book  also  changed 
his  relation  to  the  land  of  his  adoption  ;  the 
praise  of  those  whose  opinion  he  valued  was 
grateful  to  him,  and  the  readiness  with  which 


Retrospect.  37 

they  recognized  the  possibilities  of  his  nature, 
and  accepted  the  promise  of  his  youth  and  talent, 
touched  his  heart.  He  became  in  a  short  time 
an  enthusiastic  American  ;  his  father  had,  a  few 
months  before  his  death,  assumed  American 
citizenship,  and  Olaf  was  agreeably  surprised  to 
find  that,  according  to  the  laws  of  this  country, 
he  had  himself  for  some  time  been  enjoying  the 
same  honor  without  being  aware  of  it.  There- 
fore, when  at  the  end  of  five  years  his  grand- 
father wrote  and  implored  him  to  pay  a  visit  to 
his  old  home,  if  only  for  a  few  months,  he  was 
inclined  to  look  upon  this  journey  as  a  kind  of 
literary  pilgrimage,  and  consequently  willingly 
assented.  At  Christmas  time  he  sailed  for  Ham- 
burg, but  as  communication  with  Norway  at 
that  tune  of  the  year  was  difficult,  and  more- 
over he  preferred  to  see  his  native  land  in  its 
summer  glory,  he  immediately  proceeded  to 
Leipsic,  where  he  intended  to  spend  a  few  months 
at  the  University ;  and  it  is  here  where  we  have 
the  pleasure  of  making  his  acquaintance. 


38         A  Norseman  s  Pilgrimage. 

CHAPTER  III. 
A  Day  at  Wartburg. 

IT  was  in  rather  an  elegiac  mood  that  Mr. 
Varberg  left  Leipsic  for  Weimar  and  Eise- 
nach. As  the  so-called  express  train  slowly 
wound  its  way  up  through  the  lovely  Thurin- 
gian  valley,  he  had  abundant  opportunities  to 
watch  the  soft,  vague  beauty  of  a  German  sum- 
mer day.  Between  Leipsic  and  Weimar  the 
country  can  hardly  be  called  beautiful,  but  a 
June  day  is  lovely  everywhere ;  and  as  the 
generous  sky  lent  its  changeful  tints  of  rose 
and  purple  to  the  wide  plains  and  the  stiff,  sol- 
dier-like planted  forests,  which  look  like  Prus- 
sian regiments  on  parade,  their  picturesque  bar- 
renness assumed  an  air  of  tender  regret,  like  a 
plain  Cinderella  that  mourns  the  lowliness  of  her 
estate.  And  Varberg  was  just  in  a  mood  to 
appreciate  a  tender  suggestion ;  for  in  some 
hidden  recess  of  his  heart  the  half-confessed 


A  Day  at  Wartburg.  39 

yearnings  were  still  breathing  their  faint  melo- 
dies in  tones  as  vague  and  as  sweet  to  his  ear  as 
those  of  a  wind-tuned  ^Eolian  harp.  He  dared' 
not  think  it,  but  nevertheless  he  cherished  the 
suspicion  against  himself  that  he  was  fleeing 
from  Leipsic  because  its  very  air  was  filled  with 
the  presence  of  the  unknown  Margaret.  "  Love 
is  a  disease,"  says  Tourgue"neff.  "  And  a  conta- 
gious one,"  added  Varberg  in  his  thought. 
"  It  is  like  the  cholera  ;  it  is  in  the  air  we  breathe, 
in  the  water  we  drink,  and  imparts  itself  with 
equal  ease  through  any  and  all  of  our  senses." 

Varberg  spent  three  days  in  Weimar ;  visited 
the  Museum,  the  Grand  Ducal  Library,  the  Pal- 
ace, etc.  Long  he  lingered  in  Schiller's  rooms, 
where,  to  his  astonishment  he  found  a  large  por- 
trait of  Abraham  Lincoln  ;  and  through  a  strata- 
gem he  even  gained  admission  to  that  forbidden 
sanctuary  hallowed  by  the  memory  of  "  Faust's  " 
great  author.  It  is  needless  to  recount  here 
his  exploration  of  the  ruined  castle  of  Rudolfs- 
burg.  Goseck,  Schonburg,  the  Cathedral  of 
Erfurt  and  the  Thuringian  "valley  are  familiar 
to  every  traveller.  On  the  evening  of  the 
fourth  day  he  reached  Eisenach.  It  was  already 


4O          A  Norseman's  Pilgrimage. 

dark,  and  having  eng?  ^ed  a  couple  of  rooms  in 
"  The  Grand  Duke  of  Weimar,"  he  started  for 
the  Old  Town,  and  strolled  aimlessly  about  for 
an  hour,  lost  in  romantic  speculations. 

The  following  morning  he  mounted  the  cliff 
on  the  brow  of  which  the  old  castle  of  Wartburg 
is  situated  ;  spent  a  couple  of  hours  in  the  grand 
Siingersaal  and  in  Luther's  cell,  and  finally  toward 
evening  started  out  in  search  of  the  famous 
Venusberg.  According  to  the  legend,  the  old 
Roman  goddess,  after  having  been  banished 
from  the  world  by  Christ,  has  sought  refuge  in 
this  mountain,  and  here  her  sweet  voice  may 
still  be  heard  through  the  forest  silence  when 
she  sings  her  pagan  songs,  and  lures  Christian 
knights  to  destruction. 

The  red  sun  hung  low  over  the  western 
mountain  ridges ;  a  soft  purple  mist  hovered 
over  the  tops  of  the  forest,  and  a  slumberous 
perfume,  as  of  a  host  of  invisible  flowers,  was 
wafted  upward  on  the  breeze.  Varberg  stood 
before  a  large,  thickly  wooded  hill,  at  the  base 
of  which  a  labyrinth  of  narrow  pathways  wound 
in  and  out  through  gloomy  coves  and  arbors. 
A  chorus  of  unseen  waters  filled  his  ears  with 


A  Day  at  Wartburg.  41 

its  faint,  delicious  rushing,  and  its  subdued  rip- 
ple calmed  his  troubled  soul  like  the  croon- 
ing of  a  distant  lullaby.  Something  told  him 
that  this  must  be  the  Venusberg;  he  threw  him 
self  down  on  the  ground,  and  began  to  gaze 
up  into  the  sky,  which  flowed  on  like  a  broad 
blue  sea  between  airy  islands  of  cloud.  The 
great  linden  trees  rustled  with  their  leaves,  and 
a  faint  tremor  ran  through  the  air,  like  a  vague, 
expectant  whisper.  And  the  longer  he  listened 
the  more  strongly  his  mind  became  possessed 
of  an  irrational  desire  to  see,  if  but  for  one  mo- 
ment, the  phantom  of  the  ancient  legend  embod- 
ied in  living  flesh  and  blood.  It  was  a  desire 
altogether  independent  of  belief— a  mere  regret- 
ful wish  that  all  these  delightful  mysteries  might 
once  more  be  real  as  in  times  of  old.  Then — 
could  he  trust  his  senses  ? — there  was  a  creaking 
in  the  copse  hard  by,  and  he  heard  the  sound 
of  light,  hurried  footsteps. 

He  quickly  raised  himself  on  his  elbows,  and 
and  discovered  the  outlines  of  a  maidenly  figure 
shimmering  through  the  leaves.  The  boughs 
were  bent  aside,  and  a  beautiful  young  face  ap- 
peared for  a  moment,  and  with  an  exclamation 


42          A  Norseman's  Pilgrimage. 

of  fright,  again  vanished.  Utterly  bewildered, 
Varberg  sprang  to  his  feet ;  he  ran  his  hand  over 
his  eyes,  and  vainly  tried  to  collect  his  thoughts. 
That  face  was  only  too  familiar  to  him  ;  it  was 
the  very  face  which  for  months  past  had  been 
haunting  his  fancy ;  it  was  the  face  of  his  Mar- 
garet. Looking  toward  the  copse  where  he  had 
seen  her  vanish,  he  discovered  a  red  and  white 
shawl,  which  in  her  tright  she  had  let  fall.  He 
picked  it  up,  and  began  to  ascend  the  hill.  The 
blood  throbbed  in  his  temples,  and  he  hardly 
felt  the  touch  of  the  earth  he  was  treading. 
Having  gained  a  point  where  he  had  a  free  view 
of  the  forest  below,  he  sat  down  on  a  stone,  and 
with  his  eye  followed  the  course  of  the  inter- 
twining footpaths.  Presently  he  saw  something 
white  which  fluttered  between  the  trunks  of  two 
huge  beeches,  a  few  hundred  feet  away.  He 
arose  and  hastily  made  his  way  to  the  spot.  It 
was  again  the  mysterious  maiden.  She  had 
either  fallen,  or  from  exhaustion  let  herself  drop 
on  the  ground.  Her  whole  frame  trembled,  and 
she  panted  violently. 

"  Pardon  me,"  began  he. 

She  started  with  a  faint  cry  at  the  sound  of 


A  Day  at  WarOturg.  43 

his  voice,  then  quickly  collected  herself,  and 
made  an  effort  to  rise. 

"  I  hope  you  will  forgive  me,"  continued  he, 
"  if  I  have  involuntarily  been  the  cause  of  your 
fright.  A  hundred  times  I  beg  your  pardon. 
You  left  your  shawl  down  on  the  hillside.  I 
picked  it  up.  Here  it  is." 

He  handed  her  the  shawl,  and  half  mechani- 
cally she  stretched  out  her  hand  to  receive  it. 

"  Thank  you,"  she  whispered. 

"  If  I  can  be  of  any  service  to  you,"  said  he 
after  a  pause,  "  I  hope  you  wOl  not  hesitate  to 
let  me  know." 

There  was  something  so  heart}'  and  honest 
in  the  way  he  spoke,  that  her  fear  gradually 
vanished,  and  as  his  eye  met  hers  he  saw  in  it  a 
rapid  gleam  of  recognition,  to  which  he  uncon- 
sciously responded. 

"  I  know  it  was  very  foolish  in  me  to  be  fright- 
ened," she  said,  with  a  feeble  attempt  to  smile. 
"  Bat  I  have  lost  my  way,  and  this  is  the  Venus- 
berg,  you  know,  and  it  is  all  so  strange,  so 
strange.'" 

"  I  suppose  you  wish  to  return  to  Eisenach  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  I  started  for  the  castle  this  morning, 


44          A  Norseman's  Pilgrimage. 

with  my  cousin.  She  had  no  curiosity  to  see  the 
Venusberg,  and  so  I  went  alone.  I  am  to  meet 
her  again  in  Eisenach  this  evening.  You  know," 
she  added  apologetically,  "  that  American  ladies 
have  the  privilege  of  doing  things  which  Euro- 
peans call  strange ;  and  when  they  are  abroad 
they  are  somehow  thrown  off  their  responsibility, 
and  they  often  do  things  which  would  hardly 
occur  to  them  if  they  were  at  home." 

Varberg  had  crossed  his  arms  over  his  breast, 
and  stood  leaning  up  against  the  trunk  of  a  tree. 
"Aha,"  he  thought,  "then  my  fair  Margaret  is 
an  American.  An  American  Margaret !  What 
an  absurdity!  "  And  he  was  not  sure  but  that 
in  his  heart  of  hearts  he  cherished  a  vague 
resentment  against  her  for  her  unwillingness  to 
identify  herself  with  the  romantic  being  his 
fancy  had  made  her.  Her  cheeks  were  still 
flushed,  and  there  was  a  glimmer  of  uneasiness 
in  her  dark  eyes ;  her  mouth  and  chin  were 
exquisitely  sculptured,  her  nose  slightly  Roman, 
and  her  hair  of  a  dark  brown  hue,  which  lacked 
but  the  fraction  of  a  tinge  of  being  black.  The 
magnificent  turn  of  her  shoulders,  the  fulness  of 
her  bust,  and  the  grand  poise  of  her  head  gave 


A  Day  at  Wartburg.  45 

her  an  air  of  self-confidence  and  repose,  and  even 
in  the  midst  of  her  agitation,  she  preserved  a 
certain  statuesqueness  of  manner  and  bearing. 
Somehow,  the  suddenness  and  mystery  of  their 
meeting  put  them  more  readily  at  ease  with 
each  other  than  if  they  had  met  in  the  conven- 
tional way  in  a  crowded  drawing-room ;  and 
having  by  her  look  been  assured  of  her  confi- 
dence in  him,  Varberg  sat  down  in  the  heather 
at  her  feet  and  began  to  talk  with  her  about  the 
history  and  the  legends  of  the  place.  She 
answered  at  first  a  little  timidly  ;  then,  uncon- 
sciously yielding  to  the  fascination  of  the  place, 
she  grew  more  communicative,  and  before  an 
hour  had  passed  they  found  themselves  talking 
together  as  if  they  had  known  each  other  for 
years.  Still,  there  was  a  vague  look  of  solici- 
tude, as  if  she  were  afraid  of  having  done  some- 
thing wrong,  when  finally  she  rose  to  bid  him 
farewell. 

"  I  shall  have  to  continue  my  wanderings,' 
said  she,  "  if  I  am  to  reach  the  city  before  dark 
Perhaps  you  would  kindly  start  me  on  the  right 
road." 

"  I  am  myself  going  to  Eisenach,"  answered 


46          A  Norseman's  Pilgrimage. 

he,  "  and  if  you  would  trust  yourself  to  my  guid- 
ance, I  should  deem  it  a  favor." 

"  When  I  think  of  it,"  said  she  hesitatingly, 
"  I  fear  I  have  no  alternative.  I  have  not  the 
faintest  idea  of  where  I  am." 

The  sun  had  in  the  meanwhile  sunk  behind 
the  borders  of  the  forest,  and  the  golden  crescent 
of  the  moon  sailed  calmly  through  a  limpid  ocean 
of  blue  sky.  The  air  was  so  soft  and  warm,  the 
evening  breeze  so  gently  caressing,  and  the 
whisper  of  the  leaves  so  deliciously  vague 
and  soothing,  that  mere  existence  seemed  a 
luxury.  The  air  was  rilled  with  the  fragrance 
of  fresh  sprouts  and  flowers ;  the  dim  shadows 
of  the  trees  quivered  mysteriously  in  the  moon- 
light, and  the  clear  flute-notes  of  the  nightin- 
gale enlivened  the  gloom  of  the  beech  copse. 

"  It  is  on  a  night  like  this  that  the  elf 
maidens  tread  the  dance,"'  remarked  Varberg, 
as  he  helped  his  companion  down  the  side  of  a 
moss-grown  rock. 

"  Elf  maidens  ?     What  are  elf  maidens  ?  " 
"  They  are  the  ghosts  of  dead  flowers." 
"The  ghost  of  a  flower!     I  never  heard  of 
such  a  thing." 


A  Day  at  Wartburg.  47 

"  That  is  the  consequencce  of  your  American 
education." 

"That  is  very  possible.  But  I  am  willing  to 
be  instructed.  You  seem  to  be  a  perfect  ency- 
clopaedia of  mythical  lore.  Tell  me  why  the  elf 
maidens  dance,  and  why  they  dance  just  on  a 
night  like  this." 

The  road  was  now  becoming  smoother,  and 
while  they  walked  along  under  the  moonlit  dome 
of  the  forest,  he  told  her  the  legends  of  gnomes, 
elves,  and  nixies  that  inhabited  the  mountains, 
groves,  and  rivers  of  the  old  world. 

"  And  don't  you  think  they  could  be  induced 
to  emigrate  to  America  ? "  she  asked  with  a 
merry  laugh.  "We  need  something  of  the 
kind,  especially  about  Boston  and  Cambridge, 
where  the  transcendental  tea  meetings  are  in 
danger  of  reducing  us  all  into  mere  abstract 
entities  or  nonentities,  and  I  don't  know  what  it 
is  all  called." 

"  We  get  so  many  less  desirable  elements 
from  Europe,"  he  replied  gravely.  "  It  would 
be  well  if  we  could  also  import  some  of  her  noble 
poetry  and  romance." 

"  Yes,  indeed  ,  I    perfectly  agree  with  you. 


48          A  Norsemaris  Pilgrimage. 

Only  think  of  it !  To  have  Mr.  Sphinx  of  Con- 
cord digging  in  his  garden,  and  suddenly  bring- 
ing to  light  a  century-old  gnome,  who  sternly 
calls  him  to  account  for  disturbing  the  sanctity 
of  his  subterranean  home,  and  prophesies  that, 
as  a  penality,  his  race  shall  be  extinct  in  the  third 
generation  ;  and  Mr.  Jockey,  of  the  Lane  Street 
Church,  bathing  in  the  Charles  River,  to  wash  off 
the  dust  of  a  horse-race,  being  clasped  in  the  cold 
embrace  of  a  lovely  mermaid.  And  to  complete 
the  picture,  I  should  like  to  see  the  Rev.  Mr. 
Buddha  taking  an  evening  walk  (if  he  is  addicted 
to  that  sort  of  thing),  and  being  abruptly  con- 
fronted by  a  group  of  airy  elf  maidens,  who  wind 
their  white  arms  about  him  and  force  him  to 
dance  a  moonlight  jig  with  them  to  the  music  of 
harebells  and  lilies  o'  the  valley.  Ah,  I  think  I 
see  the  surprise  of  the  reverend  gentleman,"  she 
added,  laughing  heartily.  "  I  would  give  a  good 
deal  for  the  chance  of  looking  on." 

Varberg,  although  he  was  slightly  shocked 
at  her  lack  of  reverence  for  the  old  traditions, 
could,  not  help  joining  in  her  gayety;  and  he 
owned  that  he  would  himself  enjoy  seeing  the 
great  transcendentalists  in  similar  situations. 


A  Day  at  Warlburg.  49 

"  I  could  very  well  imagine  Lowell  catching 
glimpses  of  elves  and  fairies  under  his  tall  elms 
in  Cambridge,"  he  remarked.  "In  fact,  I  have 
no  doubt  that  he  often  does." 

"  Yes ;  there  is  something  of  the  old  world 
about  Lowell."  she  replied.  "  Since  I  read  those 
wonderful  opening  pages  of  his  '  Cathedral,'  and 
that  charming  essay, '  My  Garden  Acquaintance,'  I 
do  believe  him  capable  of  seeing  things  which 
are  hidden  from  the  sight  of  us  ordinary  mortals. 
And  the  experience  of  to-day,  this  moonlight 
ramble  under  the  shadow  of  ancient  Wartburg, 
and  your  mythical  tales,  have  affected  me  so 
strangely." 

There  was  to  him  a  glamour  of  unreality  about 
the  incidents  of  this  day,  and  he  could  hardly, 
even  at  this  moment,  persuade  himself  that  he 
was  treading  on  solid  earth.  It  was  a  peculiarity 
of  his  mind  that  it  wandered  off,  on  the  slight- 
est provocation,  into  all  sorts  of  dreamy  vagaries, 
and  now  it  was  this  very  maiden,  whom  his  fancy 
had  clothed  with  all  the  attributes  of  romance, 
who  sternly  rent  the  veil,  and  by  her  realistic 
talk  forced  him  to  accept  her  in  her  true  charac- 
ter. She  was  evidently  not  deficient  in  fancy, 
3 


50          A  Norseman  s  Pilgrimage. 

but  she  was  a  true  product  of  American  soil,  and 
she  represented  those  very  qualities  which  he 
especially  disapproved  of  in  Americans — their  re- 
alistic humor  and  their  utter  irreverence  for 
tradition. 

They  had  reached  the  place  where  the  rail- 
road bridge  overarches  the  road,  and  Varberg 
was  just  indulging  in  a  mental  denunciation  of 
railroads,  when  the  girl  again  broke  his  reverie  : 

"  How  charmingly  impersonal  our  talk  has 
been,"  she  exclaimed.  "This  is  the  second  time 
we  meet — I  mean  we  have  spent  several  hours 
in  each  other's  company,  and  you  have  not  yet 
told  me  your  name." 

"  My  name  is  Olaf  Varberg." 

"  Qlaf!  What  a  delightfully  barbarous  name  ! 
I  beg  your  pardon  ;  I  only  intended  to  say  that 
it  was  a  very  unusual  name." 

"  It  is  a  Norwegian  name.  I  am  by  birth  a 
Norwegian  and  by  adoption  an  American." 

"  My  name  is  Ruth  Copley  ;  and  I  need  not 
tell  you  that  I  was  born  in  Boston,  since  you 
must  already  have  inferred  that  from  my  talk. 
I  have  spent  about  a  year  in  Leipsic,  studying 
music  at  the  Conservatory." 


A  Day  at  WarOmrg.  51 

This  called  fora  similar  confidence  on  his 
part;  and  before  they  had  entered  the  streets 
of  Eisenach,  they  were  both  acquainted  with  a 
good  many  incidents  of  each  other's  lives.  The 
sag-roofed,  turf-thatched  cottages  in  the  out- 
skirts of  the  town,  with  their  queer  little  window 
panes,  gazed  upon  them  with  a  ghastly  stare 
from  out  the  moonlit  stillness,  like  that  of  an  eye 
which  remains  open  in  sleep.  The  footsteps  of 
the  two  wanderers  echoed  sharply  between  the 
walls  of  the  stone-paved  courts,  and  their  black 
shadows  travelled  silently  and  swiftly  at  their 
sides. 

"Oh,  what  a  horrid  place!"  said  Ruth, 
unconsciously  pressing  herself  more  tightly  up 
to  her  companion. 

"  Do  you  know  the  legend  of  the  Willies?" 
asked  he. 

"  Not  N.  P.,"  she  replied  with  a  forced  smile. 
"  I  don't  know  any  other  Willis." 

u  It  is  an  Austrian  legend.  The  Willies  are 
dead  brides — maidens  who  have  died  between 
the  betrothal  and  the  wedding ;  and  on  a  sum- 
mer night  like  this,  when  the  city  is  silent — " 

"  How  terrible ! "  and  she  shuddered  violently. 


52          A  Norseman's  Pilgrimage. 

He  paused  and  looked  inquiringly  into  her 
face. 

"  I  thought  you  did  not  believe  in  ghosts  and 
legends,"  an  evil  demon  whispered  in  his  ear, 
and  he  was  ungenerous  enough  to  utter  the 
words. 

"  Ah,  that  is  cruel,"  she  exclaimed.  "I, ad- 
mit I  do  prefer  to  see  the  new  moon  over  my 
right  shoulder ;  but  ghosts — no,  I  do  not  believe 
in  them.  And  now  you  shall  finish  your  legend, 
or  I  shall  not  stir  from  the  spot.  It  was  on  a 
summer  night  like  this,  you  said — " 

"  Miss  Copley,  pardon  me.     I  had  no  idea — " 

"  Yes  ;  when  you  have  finished  your  legend," 
she  interrupted  him.  And  she  stood  tall  and 
calm,  with  the  light  shawl  flung  toga-like  about 
her  shoulders,  while  the  pallid  moonlight,  as  it 
were,  lifted  and  etherealized  her  divine  form. 
Varberg's  first  impulse  was  to  throw  himself 
at  her  feet  and  madly  declare  his  love  for  her. 
Then  suddenly  it  struck  him  that  this  would 
make  a  capital  scene  in  a  story,  and  the  heroic 
spirit  immediately  departed. 

"  Well,  since  you  demand  it,"  retorted  he,  in 
a  somewhat  injured  tone  ('  and  who  would  have 


A  Day  at  Wartburg.  53 

imagined  that  she  could  be  so  obstinate,'  he 
added  in  his  own  mind),  "  these  ghostly  brides 
glide  at  midnight  through  the  empty  streets,  and 
if  a  young  man  comes  in  their  way,  they  wind 
their  lily  arms  about  him,  and  onward  they  float, 
with  wilder  and  ever  wilder  movements,  and  the 
unhappy  wanderer  is  forced  to  follow.  Then 
their  phantom-like  beauty  lures  his  senses;  he 
begins  to  feel  the  spell  of  the  dance ;  he  returns 
their  caresses,  and  embraces — death." 

"  Girls  always  remain  faithful  to  their  charac- 
ter," she  observed,  after  a  minute's  silence.  "  A 
phantom  flirt !  What  a  curious  idea ! " 

They  both  lapsed  into  silence.  The  legend 
of  the  dead  brides  evidently  occupied  Miss 
Copley's  fancy  more  than  she  would  own ;  for 
as  they  stood  under  the  vault  of  the  wall  which 
separates  the  New  Town  from  the  old,  she  was 
visibly  startled  at  the  sound  of  his  voice,  and 
barely  comprehended  what  he  was  saying. 

"In  what  hotel  are  you  stopping,  Miss 
Copley?" 

"What  hotel— Ah,  the  Grand  Duke  of 
Weimar." 

"  Then  we  are  happily  housemates." 


54          A  Norseman's  Pilgrimage. 

In  the  parlor  of  the  hotel  they  found  the 
cousin,  Miss  Bailey,  who  embraced  and  kissed 
Ruth,  and  declared  that  she  had  supposed  she 
had  been  dead  a  million  times.  Miss  Bailey 
was  small  of  stature,  and  was  as  fair  as  her 
cousin  was  dark ;  her  plump  round  face,  her 
pouting  lips,  and  her  frank  blue  eyes  had  some- 
thing amusingly  innocent  about  them,  almost 
babylike.  There  was  a  certain  childlike  vehe- 
mence in  her  manner  as  in  her  speech,  provoked, 
as  Varberg  fancied,  or  rather  exaggerated,  by 
the  fact  that  she  seemed  herself  to  be  conscious 
of  it.  At  the  supper  table  her  guileless  eyes, 
half  unknowingly,  appealed  to  him  in  a  way 
which  implied  no  small  degree  of  confidence, 
and  when  his  were  rather  slow  to  respond,  she 
shrank  back  with  a  puzzled  frown,  and  held  her 
peace  for  the  next  ten  minutes.  Then,  grad- 
ually divining  her  character,  he  did  her  penance 
in  his  heart,  and  again  the  innocent  blue  eyes 
beamed  forth  their  ready  forgiveness.  When 
the  supper  was  finished,  he  bade  the  ladies 
good-night,  and  retired  to  his  own  room,  pulled 
off  his  coat  and  flung  himself  into  an  easy  chair. 
A  strange  torpor  had  come  over  him  ;  a  hundred 


A  Day  at  Wartburg.  55 

thoughts  whirled  about  in  his  brain,  and  floated 
in  a  nebulous  procession  before  his  eyes. 

"  Do  I  really  love  her,"  he  murmured  to 
himself,  "  or  is  it  merely  imagination  ?  I  have 
imagined  myself  in  love  with  at  least  twenty 
women,  but  it  usually  passed  off  in  the  course 
of  a  fortnight." 

He  went  to  the  window,  thrust  it  open,  and 
leaned  out  over  the  sill.  His  eyes  instinctively 
wandered  upward,  and  in  the  window  right 
above  him  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  maidenly 
form  in  a  light  negligee  ;  her  long,  dark  hair  was 
loosened,  and  hung  in  rich  profusion  down  over 
her  shoulders,  and  her  face  was  turned  toward 
the  starlit  sky.  He  must  have  made  a  noise  with 
the  window,  or  in  some  way  betrayed  himself, 
for  she  hastily  withdrew,  and  did  not  reappear. 

"  Good  gracious  !  "  thought  Varberg  to  him- 
self; "  who  would  ever  have  suspected  her  of  a 
moonlight  reverie  ?  " 

This  discovery,  however,  made  him  very 
happy  for  the  moment,  and  he  concluded  that 
after  such  a  day's  experience  it  was  in  no  way 
humiliating  to  pay  the  flesh  its  due,  and  go 
to  bed. 


56          A  Norseman's  Pilgrimage. 

CHAPTER  IV. 

From  Wartburg  to  Lcipsic. 

~\  7ARBERG  rose  late  the  next  morning,  and  as 
*  he  went  down  to  breakfast  he  heard  Miss 
Copley  inquiring  of  the  clerk  about  the  depart- 
ure of  the  next  train.  He  had  just  time  to 
devour  a  couple  of  eggs,  and  to  scald  his  mouth 
with  the  coffee,  but  he  had  in  return  the  satis- 
faction of  relieving  the  ladies  of  their  bundles, 
and  of  conducting  them  to  the  not  very  comfort- 
able railroad  car.  In  fact  the  best  thing  about 
the  German  railroads  is  their  safety  and  the  mag- 
nificent beards  of  the  officials ;  but  in  the  point 
of  comfort  they  are  but  a  slight  improvement 
on  the  old-fashioned  stage-coaches.  Miss  Bailey 
began  to  talk  very  fast  to  the  conductor  in  Eng- 
lish, at  which  the  Teuton  smiled  complacently, 
and  turned  the  lock  in  her  face.  Miss  Copley, 
with  a  kind  of  humorous  indulgence  to  the  cus- 
toms of  the  land,  made  herself  comfortable  as 


From  Wartburg  to  Leipsic.         57 

best  she  could,  and  before  long  was  engaged  in 
an  airy  little  chat  with  her  new  friend.  "  How 
did  you  enjoy  Weimar  ?  "  she  asked  as  the  train 
moved  on.  "  I  was  there  a  few  months  ago. 
But  it  made  me  almost  vow  that  I  should  never 
go  sight-seeing  again." 

"Why  so?" 

"  I  don't  wish  to  spoil  your  story.  Give  me 
first  your  impressions,  and  I  shall  give  you  mine 
afterwards." 

He  briefly  recounted  to  her  his  experience  in 
Weimar,  and  especially  dwelt  on  the  forlorn 
appearance  of  Schiller's  rooms. 

"  To  think  that  the  great  poet  should  die  in 
that  poor  unpainted  bed,"  he  said.  "  And  the 
mask  of  his  face,  taken  after  his  death,  lies  there 
on  the  pillow  with  the  calm  lines  of  suffering 
still  legible  in  its  features.  I  almost  shivered  to 
see  it.'7 

"You  didn't  experience  a  holy  shudder,  did 
you  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  if  I  should  give  it  just  that 
name." 

"Well,  I  am  glad  you  didn't.  I  went  to 
Weimar  with  a'  cousin  who  has  now  returned 


58          A  Norseman's  Pilgrimage. 

to  America.  He  suffered  with  a  holy  shudder 
in  Schiller's  house,  although  I  am  confident  that 
he  had  never  read  a  word  of  what  Schiller  has 
written." 

"  How  do  you  know?  You  appear  to  be  a 
confirmed  skeptic." 

"  I  will  give  you  my  reasons.  If  any  one  is 
grandiloquent  it  is  in  my  nature  to  question  the 
genuineness  of  his  emotions.  As  for  my  cousin, 
I  soon  found  an  occasion  to  put  him  to  the  test. 
He  was  in  rapture  at  the  idea  of  sitting  at  the 
desk  on  which  'Wallenstein  '  had  been  written. 
I  began  to  talk  about  '  Wallenstein/  and  called 
his  daughter  Catharina,  although  I  was  well  aware 
that  her  name  was  Thekla.  Fred  immediately 
swallowed  the  bait,  and  commenced  to  declaim 
about  this  Catharina.  '  What  a  superb  creature 
she  is!  What  wonderful  strength  of  passion,' 
etc. — all  generalities  which  might  in  fact  apply 
to  any  heroine  of  a  drama." 

He  couldn't  help  laughing  at  the  novelty  of 
the  experiment,  and  still  he  was  not  altogether 
pleased.  She  evidently  observed  this,  and  has- 
tened to  add  an  explanation. 

"  I  am  always  disappointed  with  myself  when- 


Front   Wartburg  to  Leipsic.          59 

ever  I  visit  the  scene  of  a  great  historical  event 
or  the  place  where  a  great  man  has  lived  and 
died.  I  never  succeed  in  associating  the  event 
or  the  man  with  the  place.  Somehow  or  other 
my  sentiments  are  always  off  duty,  and  I  remain 
provokingly  cold.  I  believe  that  I  could  have 
cried  with  Mark  Twain  at  the  grave  of  Adam  ; 
but  as  for  Schiller  and  the  more  modern  bene- 
factors of  the  race,  I  have  no  tears  to  waste 
on  them." 

Varberg  sat  regarding  her  face  attentively 
while  she  spoke.  He  secretly  admitted  the  truth 
of  what  she  said,  and  honored  her  sincerity,  al- 
though her  remarks  did  seem  to  imply  a  doubt 
as  to  his  own  candor.  He  would  probably  have 
undertaken  to  defend  himself,  if  it  had  not  just 
then  occurred  to  him  that  he  had  been  unpardon- 
ably  rude  fn  excluding  the  less  attractive  cousin 
from  the  conversation.  He  hastened  to  repair 
the  wrong.  "  And  what  do  you  think,  Miss 
Bailey  ?  "  he  said,  turning  to  the  latter. 

"  I  think  that  this  landscape  is  perfectly  beau- 
tiful," answered  Miss  Bailey,  in  her  peculiarly 
emphatic  manner.  And  soon  they  were  all  en- 
gaged in  a  lively  discussion  of  the  comparative 


60          A  Norsemaris  Pilgrimage. 

merits  of  a  German  and  an  American  summer. 
Miss  Copley  grew  very  animated  in  the  defence 
of  her  native  land,  while  Varberg  and  Miss  Bailey, 
whose  home  recollections  could  not  have  been 
of  a  very  cheerful  character,  upheld  the  superi- 
ority of  Europe. 

The  landscape  through  which  they  were  just 
travelling  did  seem  to  add  an  argument  in  favor 
of  the  Teutons.  On  both  sides  of  the  road  the 
vine-clad  hills  shone  with  the  fresh  tints  of  sum- 
mer;  the  sunlight  fell  in  brilliant  profusion  upon 
the  glimmering  rocks,  and  soft  patches  of  shadow 
rested  with  the  lightness  of  a  noonday  reverie 
upon  the  green  banks  of  the  Saale.  About  mid- 
way between  the  cities  Naumburg  and  Weissen- 
fels  they  observed  the  picturesque  ruins  of  the 
old  castles  Rudolfsburg  and  Saaleck,  whose 
shattered  watch-towers  stand  like  hoary  Titans 
guarding  the  entrance  to  the  valley. 

"  What  untcld  tragedies,  what  idyls  and  ro- 
mances have  been  enacted  within  those  walls," 
said  Varberg,  pointing  to  the  ruin. 

"  I  wonder  what  house  in  New  England  that 
is  twenty  years  old  has  not  been  the  stage  of 


From   Wartburg  to  Leipsic.          61 

similar  tragdies  and  romances,"  answered  Miss 
Ruth. 

"Yes;  if  you  would  call  a  drunken  shoe- 
maker, who  ruins  his  family,  a  romantic  charac- 
ter, or  a  Wall  Street  speculator,  who  kills  him- 
self when  he  has  lost  his  last  stake." 

"  I  can  hardly  comprehend,"  retorted  she, 
with  some  little  show  of  patriotic  zeal,  "  why  a 
drunken  baron  should  be  any  more  romantic 
than  a  drunken  shoemaker;  and  you  will  no 
doubt  admit  that  drunkenness  was  even  more 
prevalent  among  your  feudal  heroes  than  among 
the  Massachusetts  shoemakers." 

"  I  once  knew  a  man  out  in  Indiana,"  re- 
marked Miss  Bailey,  "  who  killed  himself  drink- 
ing, and  then  killed  all  his  family  too." 

"  I  am  glad  he  was  sensible  enough  to  kill 
himself  first,"  said  her  cousin  dryly. 

11  Well,  Ruth,  1  know  you  understand  what  I 
mean,"  cried  Miss  Bailey  in  a  high-pitched  stac- 
cato. "  I  somehow  always  get  hold  of  the  story 
by  the  wrong  end,  but  if  you  only  wouldn't  be 
so  particular — " 

"  Never  mind,  Dearie,"  interrupted  the  other. 
"  You  know  you  are  the  most  charming  person 


62          A  Norsemaris  Pilgrimage. 

to  tease;  and,"  added  she.  in  a  humorously 
tender  tone,  "  you  wouldn't  begrudge  me  that 
pleasure,  Dearie,  would  you  ?  " 

The  train  stopped  at  Weissenfels,  and  the 
melodious  clocks  of  the  station  announced  with 
six  measured  strokes  the  arrival.  Half  a  dozen 
gorgeously  uniformed  officials  began  to  run 
back  and  forth  between  the  cars  and  the  tele- 
graph offices,  stopping  every  minute  or  two  to 
exchange  a  military  salute.  A  young  man  with 
a  fine  sword  at  his  side,  a  broad  scarlet  collar  on 
his  coat,  and  spectacles  on  his  nose,  strutted  up 
and  down  t  on  the  pavement  in  front  of  the 
window  of  our  travellers. 

"  Of  what  rank  would  you  take  that  man  to 
be  ?  "  said  Varberg  to  Miss  Bailey. 

"  I  should  suppose  he  was  a  colonel,  or  some- 
thing of  the  sort,"  answered  the  lady. 

"  He  is  a  clerk  in  the  railroad  office." 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  " 

"  I  know  it  by  the  uniform.  I  travelled  with 
a  German  professor  from  Kiel  to  Hanover,  and 
had  him  instruct  me  in  regard  to  many  features 
of  Prussian  rule."" 

"  I  don't  think  the  young  man  would  do  for 


From  Wartburg  to  Leipsic.         63 

a  ticket  agent  on  the  Boston  and  Albany  road," 
observed  Miss  Ruth.  "  He  has  evidently  suffi- 
cient conceit,  but  I  doubt  if  he  has  the  faculty 
of  snubbing  the  public  with  that  grand  air  which 
is  so  peculiar  to  our  railroad  men." 

At  Corbetha  they  changed  cars,  and  the  train 
now  hastened  on  through  a  fertile,  rather  monot- 
onous plain,  where  the  stiff,  tall  poplars  and  the 
wide-spreading  blades  of  the  windmills  keep  up 
a  silent  contest  for  the  sole  proprietorship  of  the 
horizon.  Friendly  little  villages  cluster  with 
their  turf-thatched  roofs  about  the  oak-sheltered 
Gothic  spire,  and  then  disperse  with  a  kind  of 
youthful  waywardness,  strangely  out  of  keeping 
with  their  general  sombreness  of  aspect.  In 
some  instances  the  churches,  with  their  square 
towers  and  their  huge  black  roofs,  seem  to  blend 
into  a  friendly  harmony  with  their  lowly  sur- 
roundings ;  but  at  times  they  lord  it  over  them, 
and  the  humble  whitewashed  cottages  look  as 
if  they  were  crouching  in  the  dust  at  the  feet 
of  their  magnificent  neighbors.  As  Ruth  re- 
marked, it  reminded  her  of  a  poor  family  that 
had  inherited  a  silver  table  service,  but  couldn't 
with  their  best  will  keep  up  the  style  which  such 


64         A  Norseman's  Pilgrimage. 

an  article  required,  nor  could  they  make  up  their 
minds  to  part  with  it ;  and  consequently  every- 
thing else  in  the  house  looked  poorer  than  it 
really  was,  only  because  the  silver  overshadowed 
it  .with  its  splendor. 

"  What  would  you  do  yourself  in  such  a  case, 
Miss  Copley?"  asked  Varberg — "  I  mean  if  you 
were  a  member  of  such  a  family." 

"  I  would  go  and  sell  the  table  service,  and 
make  myself  comfortable  with  the  money," 
answered  she. 

"  And  what  would  you  do,  Miss  Bailey  ?" 

"  I    would  give  it  to  some  poor  person.'' 

"  Who  would  be  worse  off  with  it  than 
you  had  been  yourself,"  cried  Ruth,  laughing. 
"  Yes,  I  am  sure  that  would  be  wise.  But  what 
would  you  do  with  it,  Mr.  Varberg?" 

"  I  should  keep  it,"  said  Olaf  gravely. 

Early  in  the  afternoon  the  train  reached 
Leipsic,  and  Olaf  Varberg  parted  from  his  friends, 
after  having  helped  them  into  a  carriage,  and 
having  received  a  cordial  invitation  to  call.  As 
he  rode  home  to  his  lodgings  in  the  new  part  of 
the  city,  he  reviewed  in  his  mind  the  strange 
events  of  these  two  days.  Mingled  feelings  of 


From  Wartburg  to  Leipsic.         65 

enchantment  and  displeasure  were  struggling 
in  his  bosom.  No  sooner  was  Ruth  out  of  sight 
than  he  tried  mercilessly  to  analyze  her,  in 
the  hope  of  accounting  for  the  fascination  which 
her  mere  presence  had  exercised  over  him,  or 
perhaps  rather  to  prove  to  himself  that  his  ad- 
miration was  altogether  foolish  and  irrationaL 

"  She  would  make  an  admirable  character  for 
a  story,"  he  thought  to  himself;  "some  truly 
capital  traits.  But  she  has  no  two  things  in 
common  with  me  ;  she  ridicules  the  things  which 
I  love,  and  has  no  more  appreciation  of  the  ro- 
mantic than  a  bat.  The  idea  of  my  falling  in 
love  with  such  a  woman  "  ;  and  he  laughed  to 
himself  at  the  absurdity  of  the  thing.  "  No,  it 
is  a  mere  literary  interest  I  take  in  her — a  mere 
aesthetic  regard." 

**  A  mere  aesthetic  regard,"  he  repeated  as  he 
entered  his  neatly  furnished  parlor.  The  phrase 
appeared  striking  to  him,  and  he  kept  murmur- 
ing it,  half  absently,  while  he  promenaded  up  and 
down  the  floor.  And  the  longer  he  walked  the 
more  satisfied  he  grew  that  it  was  merely  in 
his  capacity  of  author  that  he  loved  Ruth,  and 


66          A  Norsemaris  Pilgrimage. 

that  Olaf  Varberg  the  man  felt  no  particular 
interest  in  her. 

"And  then,  had  I  better  commence  the 
story  at  once?''  he  asked  himself;  which  ques- 
tion led  to  a  brief  dispute  between  Varberg  the 
author  and  Varberg  the  man  in  regard  to  what 
course  the  latter  ought  to  pursue  toward  the 
object  of  the  former's  love.  It  was  finally  agreed 
that  Varberg  the  man  should  humor  the  wishes 
of  his  literary  brother,  and  accept  Miss  Copley's 
invitation  to  continue  the  acquaintance. 

Having  settled  this  important  business,  our 
Norseman  made  a  rather  elaborate  toilet,  and 
repaired  to  the  hotel  where  he  was  in  the  habit 
of  taking  his  dinner.  On  the  way  he  met  his 
friend,  Baron  von  Weisskopf,  who  embraced 
him  in  German  fashion  and  kissed  his  cheeks, 
much  to  the  disgust  of  the  American  part  of 
his  nature. 

"  Mein  lieber  Doctor,"  cried  the  Baron  (all 
his  German  friends  called  him  doctor),  "  I 
have  sought  you  in  all  imaginable  places  for 
the  last  week,  but  have  been  unable  to  find  you. 
I  thought  you  might  possibly  be  both  dead  and 
buried." 


Front   Wartburg  to  Leipsic.          67 

"  Weeds  do  not  perish  so  easily,"  replied 
Varberg. 

"Ah,  you  are  too  modest,  my  excellent 
friend,"  cried  Weisskopf  gaily.  "  But  by  the 
way,  where  are  you  going  ?  " 

"  I  am  going  to  my  hotel,  and  should  be 
happy  to  have  you  come  and  dine  with  me." 

"  With  the  greatest  pleasure." 

Arm  in  arm  they  wandered  down  the 
promenade,  while  the  Baron  related  the  last 
week's  news  from  the  student  world,  consisting 
chiefly  of  duels  that  had  just  taken  place,  and 
duels  that  were  yet  in  prospect. 

Baron  Max  von  Weisskopf  was  a  man  of 
about  six  feet,  stoutly  built,  and  of  a  magnificient 
physique.  His  features  were  rather  large  and 
handsome,  but  they  were  marred  by  half  a  dozen 
scars  which  his  full  blonde  beard  but  partly  con- 
cealed. His  brown  hair  was  cut  close  to  his 
head,  and  his  eyes  were  protruding  and  had  a 
glassy  look.  He  had  the  neck  of  a  bull,  and 
the  voice  of  a  lion  ;  his  laugh  was  loud,  and 
sounded  like  the  clashing  of  two  brazen  pans. 
He  was  Varberg's  senior  by  several  years,  but 
had  taken  a  great  fancy  to  him  on  their  first 


68          A  Norseman's  Pilgrimage. 

meeting  at  a  students'  festival.  As  for  the 
Norseman,  he  had  never  entertained  any  cordial 
regard  for  his  noisy  friend,  but  his  literary  zeal 
had  induced  him  to  continue  the  friendly  rela- 
tion. Weisskopf  was  an  original  character,  he 
thought,  and  was  especially  useful  in  initiating 
him  into  the  mysteries  of  German  student  life. 

As  consenior  of  one  of  the  largest  chores* 
and  a  renowned  swordsman,  the  Baron  had,  of 
course,  free  access  everywhere,  and  it  cost  him 
but  a  word  to  gain  for  his  friend  the  same  privi- 
leges. His  twenty-eight  duels  had  covered  him 
with  honor  and  with  "  noble  scars,"  which  latter 
he  took  a  special  pride  in  displaying,  whenever 
the  Rhine  wine  had  made  him  more  than  usually 
animated. 

In  the  hotel  a  very  abundant  dinner  was 
ordered,  and  Weisskopf  ate  and  drank  like  a 
Hercules.  Varberg  was  not  in  a  mood  to  talk, 
and  so  he  contented  himself  with  keeping  the 
Baron's  glass  constantly  filled,  and  the  Baron  did 
his  best  to  keep  him  steadily  busy.  When  the 

*  Chores  and  Biirschenschaften  are  the  names  of  two  kinds 
of  students'  societies,  or  rather  organizations,  at  the  German 
universities. 


From  Wartburg  to  Leipsic.          69 

meal  was  at  an  end  it  was  already  late  in  the 
afternoon,  and  as  they  had  nothing  else  to  do 
they  decided  to  pay  a  visit  to  Auerbach's  "  Kel- 
ler." Through  the  entrance  on  Grimmaische 
Strasse  they  descended  into  the  famous  old 
vault,  and  Weisskopf  ordered  a  couple  of  Johan- 
nisbergers,  stole  a  kiss  from  a  pretty  waiting- 
maid  who  appeared  in  the  door  for  a  moment, 
and  then  conducted  his  friend  into  those  queer 
old  apartments,  hallowed  by  a  thousand  memo- 
ries dear  to  the  German  heart.  They  took  their 
seats  at  one  of  the  small  tables,  and  glanced 
over  the  journals,  until  the  waiter  brought  the 
long-necked  bottles  in  a  cooler.  A  kind  of 
musty,  mediaeval  smell  filled  the  atmosphere  of 
the  vault,  and  the  light  fell  in,  like  a  dim,  dusty 
current,  through  that  narrow  slit  of  window 
which  was  not  covered  by  the  pavement  of  the 
street.  Varberg  lighted  a  cigar,  and  handed  his 
case  to  his  companion. 

"  Well,  lieber  Doctor,"  said  the  latter,  filling 
the  glasses,  "  what  do  you  think  of  our  German 
ladies  ?  " 

'*  I  like  our  American  ones  better,"  replied 
Varbeig,  to  whose  mind  Ruth  was  for  the 


70          A  Norseman's  Pilgrimage. 

time  being  the  representative  of  American 
young  ladyhood.  Moreover  he  had  quite  for- 
gotten his  late  enthusiasm  for  the  Teuton 
maidens  as  long  as  he  had  imagined  her  a  roman- 
tic Margaret. 

"  But  you  have  hardly  had  an  opportunity 
to  judge  yet,"  remarked  the  Baron.  "  Allow  me 
some  time  or  other  to  introduce  you  to  my  friend 

the  actress,  Fraulein  B ,  and  I  will  wager  six 

Johannisbergers  that  within  a  week  you  will  be 
converted." 

Weisskopf  stretched  out  his  hand  across  the 
table,  and  Varberg  shook  it  silently. 

"When  I  was  in  Italy  a  couple  of  years  ago," 
continued  the  Teuton,  whose  flushed  face  was 
beginning  to  show  the  effect  of  the  wine,  "I  was 
as  full  of  prejudices  as  you  are.  But  one  day  I 
took  it  into  my  head  to  learn  the  language  of 
the  country,  and  for  that  purpose  I  picked  up 
an  acquaintance  with  a  young  native  woman,  a 
truly  magnificent  creature,  who  had  big  black 
eyes — as  big  as  that  "  (and  the  speaker  put  his 
thumbs  and  his  first  fingers  together,  and 
showed  an  opening  about  the  size  of  a  tea-cup). 
"  Truly,  I  don't  exaggerate.  She  had  a  voice 


From   Wartburg  to  Leipsic.          71 

like  a  nightingale,  and  a  mouth — well,  you  can 
imagine  the  mouth — truly  superb.  One  evening 
we  met  on  the  strand  in  the  bay  of  Naples ;  I 
laid  my  hand  about  her  waist,  I  kissed  her  lips, 
etc.,  and  before  we  knew  it,  we  were  engaged." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say,"  exclaimed  Varberg, 
"  that  you  proposed  to  her  for  the  purpose  of 
learning  Italian?  " 

"  Well,  call  it  what  you  please,"  said  the 
Baron,  laughing  heartily.  "  I  certainly  did  learn 
the  most  exquisitely  tender  phrases  which  the 
Italian  or  any  other  language  is  capable  of. 
And  the  amusing  part  of  it  was  that  I  shocked 
two  ladies  whom  I  had  never  seen  before  by 
unconsciously  addressing  them  with  the  most 
endearing  names.  In  fact  I  discovered  that  I 
had,  so  to  speak,  skimmed  the  cream  of  the  lan- 
guage, and  that  my  vocabulary  consisted  merely 
of  those  delicately  flushed  words  and  phrases 
which  sounded  so  ravishingly  on  Marietta's  lips, 
and  which,  when  I  addressed  them  to  her  in 
return,  she  listened  to  with  a  delight  as  if  she 
heard  them  for  the  first  time  in  her  life." 

"  I  suppose  you  would  advise  me  on  the 
same  principle  to  make  love  to  some  German 


72          A  Norseman's  Pilgrimage. 

maiden,  as  the  most  profitable  mode  of  pursu- 
ing my  philological  studies." 

"  By  all  means,  dear  friend,"  and  again  the 
Baron  laughed  immoderately.  "  I  shall  be  most 
happy  to  further  your  noble  aim  ;  and  in  return 
I  shall  expect  of  you  that  you  introduce  me  to 
some  of  your  American  beauties  here  in  the 
city,  that  I  may  have  an  opportunity  of  perfect- 
ing myself  in  English." 

Varberg  took  it  all  for  a  pleasant  joke,  and 
laughed  in  a  way  which  might  have  been  inter- 
preted as  assent  or  as  refusal.  He  pledged  his 
friend  in  a  sparkling  glass,  and  tried  to  change 
the  subject.  But  Weisskopf  was  not  to  be 
prevailed  upon. 

"At  the  next  Seminar*  I  shall  know 
whether  you  have  followed  my  advice,"  roared 
he.  "  Ah,  what  a  delicious  situation  !  To  have 
you  grave  and  proper  American  suddenly  sur- 
prise our  worthy  Professor  with  some  perfumed 
phrase  of  tenderest  endearment." 

Love    stories,   says    Goethe,   have    this    in 

*  Seminal  is  a  half-private  meeting  of  students  and  profes- 
sors, and  is  usually  devoted  to  the  discussion  of  some  particular 
linguistic  or  scientific  topic. 


From  Wartburg  to  Leipsic.          73 

common  with  ghost-stories :  when  one  has  told 
his  experience  the  listeners  are  invariably  in- 
fected with  a  similar  desire  to  relate  theirs. 
Weisskopf  had  roamed  about  considerably,  and 
wherever  he  came  it  was  as  natural  for  him  to 
engage  himself  as  to  hire  his  board  and  lodgings. 
With  an  amiable  nonchalance  he  flitted  from 
adventure  to  adventure,  and  touched  upon 
numerous  incidents,  not  always  of  a  strictly 
moral  character,  with  an  airy  cheerfulness  which 
went  far  to  remove  Varberg's  scruples,  and  at 
last  made  him  look  upon  himself  as  an  unpar- 
donable prude  for  ever  having  disapproved  of 
him.  Thus  the  end  of  it  was  that  Olaf,  from  a 
half-confessed  desire  to  establish  himself  in  his 
friend's  respect,  began  to  relate  his  early  ro- 
mance with  the  Colonel's  daughter  in  Norway, 
but  as  he  progressed  he  became  more  disagreea- 
bly aware  of  its  poverty  in  comparison  with  the 
Baron's  glowing  descriptions,  and  in  order  to 
make  up  for  its  lack  of  incident  he  uncon- 
sciously raised  Thora  to  the  dignity  of  a  sort 
of  Northern  sea-princess,  while  he  himself  as- 
sumed the  character  of  an  heroic,  self-sacrific- 
ing lover.  Indeed,  that  part  of  his  life  seemed  so 
4 


74          -A  Norsemen? s  Pilgrimage. 

infinitely  remote,  as  if  he  had  read  of  it  a  long 
time  ago  in  some  Oriental  fairy  tale  ;  he  treated 
himself  altogether  impersonally,  -and  vaguely 
believed  that  Thora  was  all  that  his  fancy  made 
her.  About  Wartburg  and  Ruth  he  said  not 
a  word. 

"  But  my  dearest  Doctor,"  cried  Weisskopf, 
as  the  other  had  finished,  "  what  an  egregious 
ass  you  must  have  been — I  mean,  of  course,  in 
your  younger  years — to  let  such  a  chance  slip 
through  your  fingers  !  " 

Varberg  felt  the  force  of  the  remark,  and 
could  think  of  nothing  to  offer  as  an  excuse.  He 
did  seem  to  have  acted  stupidly,  and  he  felt  as 
guilty  as  if  he  had  committed  a  dishonorable  act. 
Strange  to  say,  it  is  often  more  humiliating  to 
be  outdone  by  our  friends  in  folly  than  to  be 
excelled  by  them  in  wisdom.  The  evening  was 
already  far  advanced,  and  at  Olafs  suggestion 
they  rose  to  go.  The  waiter  came  to  collect  the 
money  ;  Weisskopf  pulled  out  his  purse,  and 
with  a  half-provoked  air  began  to  hunt  for  some 
thaler  bills  which  he  didn't  find. 

"  Ah,  lieber  Doctor,"  he  exclaimed,  "  I  forgot 
to  supply  my  purse  as  I  passed  my  banker  to- 


From   Wartburg  to  Leipsic.          75 

day.  You  will  no  doubt  help  me  out  of  my 
embarrassment." 

Varberg  immediately  handed  him  a  ten- 
thaler  note,  and  Weisskopf  paid  the  waiter,  and 
as  a  matter  of  course  put  the  remaining  amount 
into  his  own  pocket-book.  But  he  did  it  with 
an  air  which  made  Varberg  dimly  feel  as  if  he 
ought  to  be  grateful  to  him  for  condescending  to 
accept  the  favor. 

They  separated  on  the  Augustus-Platz,  and 
Varberg  took  a  carriage  and  drove  home. 
Without  lighting  the  gas,  he  flung  himself  into 
the  corner  of  the  sofa,  and  a  train  of  confused 
thoughts  whirled  through  his  head.  He  thought 
of  Ruth,  and  he  thought  of  Weisskopf,  and  the 
one  appeared  to  him  like  the  good  angel,  and 
the  other  as  the  evil  demon  of  his  life.  A  blush 
of  shame  stole  to  his  face,  as  he  compared  the 
noble  aspirations  of  the  morning  with  the  imbe- 
cile boasts  of  the  night. 

"  /  introduce  him  to  Ruth ! "  he  cried. 
"  Nay,  rather  shall  our  swords  clash  and  my 
bloody  corpse  shall  bar  him  the  entrance." 

Olaf  Varberg  was  fond  of  tall  phrases,  espe- 
cially when  talking  with  himself. 


76          A  Norseman's  Pilgrimage. 


CHAPTER  V. 
In  Rosenthal. 

T  N  one  of  the  most  fashionable  streets  of 
Leipsic  there  is  a  tall  and  gloomily  comfort- 
able mansion  which  has  become  a  kind  of  tradi- 
tional resort  for  Americans.  Our  people  do  not 
take  kindly  to  tradition  when  at  home,  but  for 
this  very  reason  they  like  to  flirt  with  it  abroad, 
and  are  even  willing  to  put  up  with  a  good  deal 
of  personal  discomfort  for  the  mere  pleasure  of 
being  able  to  write  to  their  friends  beyond  the 
sea,  "  From  my  windows  I  look  out  upon  the 
mouldering  arches  of  a  ruined  Capuchin  con- 
vent" ;  or,  "  I  write  this  sitting  on  a  spot  which 
is  said  to  be  haunted  by  the  august  shade  of  the 
Emperor  Barbarossa."  And  the  honest  people 
of  Germany,  who  have  discovered  this  weakness 
in  their  visitors,  are  not  unlikely  to  manufacture 
legends  for  the  occasion  in  order  thereby  to 
invest  their  humble  abodes  with  that  romantic 


In  RosenihaL  77 

charm  which  seldom  fails  to  act  as  a  bait  to 
travellers:  and  it  is  needless  to  add  that  they 
enhance  their  prices  accordingly.  Between 
Gottingen  and  the  Harz  there  is  hardly  a  forest 
or  a  mountain  which  does  not  lay  claim  to  some 
association  with  Barbarossa's  ghost,  and  in 
Eisenach  every  other  house  has  been  the  scene 
of  some  remarkable  incident  in  the  lives  of  Lu- 
ther, the  Minnesingers,  or  Sebastian  Bach.  In 
Leipsic,  square  marble  tablets  with  the  inscrip- 
tion, "Hier  ward  geboren,"  etc..  or,  "Hier 
starb,"  adorn  the  houses  where  great  men  have 
lived,  or  died,  and  Varberg  had,  naturally 
enough,  made  the  round  of  these  houses  before 
he  condescended  to  resort  to  the  new  and  unhis- 
torical  part  of  the  city.  Unfortunately  they 
were  all  occupied,  and  for  want  of  anything 
better  he  had  selected  a  mansion  which  had 
been  hit  by  a  cannon  ball  in  the  last  battle  of 
Leipsic,  and  which  from  that  day  bore  the 
inscription,  "  Behute  Gott  dieses  Haus."  (God 
protect  this  house.) 

Ruth  had  been  more  fortunate  in  the  choice 
of  her  dwelling.  As  already  observed,  it  was 
situated  in  one  of  the  most  fashionable  streets, 


78          A  Norseman's  Pilgrimage. 

and  was  a  kind  of  cross  between  the  old  and 
the  new  city.  On  one  side  it  bordered  on 
the  lazily-flowing  Pleisse,  which  had  once,  if  the 
story  be  true,  flowed  red  with  the  mingled  blood 
of  brave  French  and  German  hearts ;  a  round- 
arched  vault,  pleasantly  suggestive  of  cloisters 
and  mediaeval  life,  led  from  the  street  into  a 
paved  court,  three  sides  of  which  were  enclosed 
by  high  walls,  while  the  fourth  left  the  view  free 
toward  a  half  rural  oasis,  with  low-roofed  cot- 
tages and  little  green  garden  patches. 

Ruth  had  been  living  here  for  about  a  year, 
with  her  aunt  and  cousin,  at  the  time  when 
Varberg  made*  her  acquaintance.  She  was  the 
only  daughter  of  a  "retired  Boston  merchant,  and 
had  never  been  out  of  Massachusetts  until  she 
went  abroad.  At  the  age  of  five  she  had  lost 
her  mother,  and  her  father,  who  was  a  hard- 
working man  and  had  but  little  time  to  de- 
vote to  his  child,  had  given  her  in  charge  of  a 
widowed  aunt,  Mrs.-  Elder,  the  mother  of  the 
cousin  Fred  whose  enthusiasm  for  Schiller  Ruth 
had  so  pitilessly  ridiculed.  Old  Mr.  Copley  had 
since  the  death  of  his  wife  almost  shunned  the 
society  of  ladies,  and  consequently  his  daughter 


In  Rosenthal.  79 

had,  from  her  earliest  childhood,  been  thrown 
largely  into  the  company  of  men  who  had  always 
flattered  her  and  humored  her  wishes.  Her 
aunt,  who  was  a  weak  and  gentle  woman,  soon  be- 
came aware  of  the  intellectual  superiority  of  her 
ward,  and  her  conduct  toward  her  showed  the 
latter  that  she  tacitly  recognized  this  superiority. 
Thus  Ruth  early  acquired  a  certain  independ- 
ence of  manner  and  a  fearlessness  in  expressing 
her  opinions  which  by  the  less  charitable  of 
her  own  sex  were  interpreted  as  wilfulness  and 
hauteur.  Nevertheless,  as  she  grew  up  to  young 
ladyhood,  she  was  eagerly  sought  in  society,  and 
those  whom  she  deigned  to  admk  into  her  con- 
fidence felt  honored  by  her^friendship,  and  be- 
came ardently  attached  to  her.  There  was 
something  in  her  manner  which  put  an  end  to 
all  criticism ;  whatever  she  did,  the  fact  that  it 
was  she  who  did  it,  sanctioned  it  and  made  it 
proper. 

It  was  about  a  week  since  the  young  ladies 
had  returned  from  Wartburg.  Ruth  was  sitting 
at  the  piano  playing  snatches  of  various  airs,  and 
now  and  then  giving  an  impatient  toss  of  her 


8o          A  Norseman's  Pilgrimage. 

head,  as  she  opened  and  again  threw  away  one 
piece  of  music  after  the  other. 

"  Schumann  was  a  nursery  hero,"  she  said, 
turning  about  on  the  stool.  "  I  can't  imagine 
how  Clara  Shumann  could  take  it  into  her  head 
to  marry  him.  If  I  had  been  she,  I  would  rather 
have  married  old  W ." 

W was  an  old  Leipsic  music  teacher,  of 

whom  it  is  said  that  he  forswore  composing  be- 
cause Clara  Schumann  refused  his  love. 

"  And  why  do  you  play  him  then,  my  dear  ?  " 
said  Mrs.  Elder,  who  was  seated  on  the  sofa 
doing  some  sort  of  worsted  work. 

"  I  have  to  do  a  great  many  things  which 
I  disapprove  of,  aunt,"  replied  Ruth,  wheeling 
again  round  to  the  piano.  "  There  is  a  strange 
sort  of  fascination  about  him  which  I  can't  resist, 
although  his  capriciousness  provokes  me  the 
more  for  every  measure  I  play." 

"  Ah,  there  he  is  coming,"  ejaculated  Miss 
Bailey,  who  had  in  the  meanwhile  been  looking 
out  of  the  window. 

"  Who  is  coming,  Dearie?"  asked  the  aunt 

"  Oir  Wartburg  friend." 

Miss  Bailey's  real  name  was  Sarah ;  but  once 


In  Rosenthal.  Si 

when  she  had  been  veiy  sick,  and  had  not  been 
expected  to  live,  the  family  had  got  into  the 
habit  of  calling  her  Dearie,  and  this  name  she 
had  ever  since  retained.  When  Ruth  wanted  to 
tease  her  she  called  her  Sallie,  which  name,  for 
some  reason  or  other,  was  exceedingly  repugnant 
to  its  owner;  in  fact  Ruth,  who  was  not  loth  to 
employ  stratagem  for  the  accomplishment  of  her 
wishes,  could  induce  her  cousin  to  do  anything 
in  the  world  for  her  by  the  promise  that  she 
would  never  more  call  her  Sallie. 

No  sooner  had  Miss  Bailey  announced  that 
the  Wartburg  friend  was  coming  than  Ruth  rose 
from  the  piano,  and  began  to  busy  herself  about 
the  room,  clearing  away  books  and  work-baskets 
from  the  table,  and  putting  things  into  order. 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door.  Mrs.  Elder 
responded  with  a  gentle  "  Come  in,"  and  Var- 
beig  entered.  He  greeted  the  ladies,  and  was 
introduced  to  Mrs.  Elder. 

"  Why,  you  speak  English  !  "  exclaimed  she. 
"  I  understood  that  you  were  a  German,  or 
something  of  that  sort." 

Ruth  sent  her  aunt  a  quick,  disapproving 
4* 


82          A  Norsemaris  Pilgrimage. 

glance,  and  Mrs.  Elder  determined  that  she 
would  say  nothing  more. 

"  No,  I  am  not  a  German,"  replied  Varberg, 
as  he  suffered  himself  to  be  led  to  a  seat.  "  I 
have  no  wish  to  change  my  nationality." 

"  We  feared  that  you  had  quite  forgotten  us, 
Mr.  Varberg,"  said  Ruth.  "You  have  not  been 
in  haste  to  find  out  where  we  lived." 

Olaf  murmured  some  kind  of  commonplace 
excuse,  and  the  conversation  was  turned  on  some 
fresh  topic. 

"  I  am  glad  you  are  not  a  German,"  remarked 
Mrs.  Elder,  who  had  in  the  meanwhile  forgot- 
ten her  resolution.  "  The  Germans  are  very  un- 
intelligent people.  They  eat  with  their  knives, 
and  the  gentlemen  always  supply  themselves  first 
at  the  table,  and  leave  the  ladies  to  take  care  of 
themselves." 

"  I  should  hardly  ascribe  that  to  lack  of  .in- 
telligence," replied  Varberg.  "  I  think  I  should 
rather  call  it  rudeness,  or  lack  of  good  breeding." 

"  I  should  call  it  simply  immoral,"  said  Ruth, 
with  a  humorous  sparkle  in  her  eye,  which  left 
the  listener  in  doubt  whether  she  was  jesting  or 
really  in  earnest. 


In  Rosenthal.  83 

"  The  term  is  a  matter  of  indifference  to  me," 
answered  he,  "  if  the  fact  still  remains.  But  I 
must  say  that  I  have  not  invariably  found  the 
Germans  impolite." 

"  My  chief  objection  to  the  Teuton  males," 
observed  Ruth  laughing,  "  is  that  they  eat  sour- 
krout  and  strong  cheese  and  smoke  bad  tobacco. 
And  the  ladies  I  disapprove  of  because  they 
look  dowdyish." 

Varberg  was  once  more  about  to  undertake 
the  defence  of  the  Teutons,  when  it  occurred  to 
him  that  the  weather  was  beautiful,  and  that  the 
time  would  be  most  favorable  for  a  walk  through 
Rosenthal.  He  ventured  to  make  a  proposition 
to  that  effect,  and  the  ladies  willingly  assented. 
While  they  withdrew  to  the  next  room  to  put  on 
their  things  he  again  addressed  himself  to  Mrs. 
Elder,  and  had  an  opportunity  of  becoming  bet- 
ter acquainted  with  that  estimable  matron.  Mrs. 
Elder  was  a  plump  old  lady,  with  a  kind,  be- 
nevolent face  of  an  enviably  clear  complexion  ; 
her  white  hair  fell  smoothly  over  her  low  fore- 
head, and  her  mild  blue  eyes  and  her  soft  voice 
gave  one  the  impression  of  a  patient,  forbearing 
indolence.  There  was  not  the  remotest  sugges- 


84          -A  Norsematis  Pilgrimage. 

tion  of  anything  aggressive  about  Mrs.  Elder's 
whole  person  ;  she  reemed  to  be  gentleness  and 
forbearance  personified.  As  soon  as  she  had 
learned  a  few  facts  relating  to  the  visitor's  early 
life,  she  began  to  tell  him  what  a  prodigy  Ruth 
had  been  from  the  time  she  was  old  enough  to 
talk;  and  Varberg  listened  eagerly,  and  was 
quite  ready  to  believe  that  his  heroine  possessed 
even  far  greater  excellences  than  the  old  lady 
would  have  thought  of  claiming  for  her. 

"  I  remember  once  when  she  was  four  years 
old,"  said  Mrs.  Elder,  "  her  mother  and  I  were 
sitting  in  the  parlor,  and  we  were  talking  about 
some  person  who  was  in  the  habit  of  coming  to 
the  house  quite  frequently.  I  was  about  to  say 
something  not  exactly  favorable  about  this  per- 
son, but  my  sister-in-law  pointed  to  Ruth,  who 
was  sitting  in  a  corner  playing  with  her  dolls, 
and  said,  '  Little  pitchers  have  ears.'  '  Yes,  and 
legs  too,'  replied  Ruth,  picked  up  her  dolls,  and 
marched  out  of  the  room.  Now,  don't  you  think 
that  was  a  remarkable  answer  for  a  child  four 
years  old  ?  " 

Varberg  did  own  that  the  repartee  was  excel- 
lent, and  the  aunt  proceeded  to  give  fresh  in- 


In  RosenthaL  85 

stances  of  her  niece's  precocity,  and  the  young 
man  continued  to  listen  with  the  same  unflagging 
interest  and  devotion.  At  length  the  ladies  re- 
turned, but  Miss  Bailey  suddenly  declared  that 
she  had  a  headache,  and  that  she  could  not  go. 
Ruth  said  it  was  only  imagination,  and  sprinkled 
her  with  eau-de-cologne,  but  Miss  Bailey  was 
not  to  be  prevailed  upon.  So  Ruth  and  Var- 
berg  started  alone. 

It  had  rained  early  in  the  day ;  the  air  was 
pure  and  summer-like,  and  the  soil  still  exhaled 
that  damp  earthy  smell  which  after  a  shower 
always  affects  one's  senses  so  agreeably.  Ruth 
was  in  excellent  humor,  and  made  her  half  sar- 
castic little  remarks  upon  everybody  that  passed. 
But  as  they  entered  Rosenthal,  the  park  of 
Leipsic,  the  promenaders  became  too  numerous, 
and  she  was  not  a  little  puzzled  to  make  a  judi- 
cious choice  among  so  many  tempting  subjects 
for  her  satire. 

Rosenthal  must  have  been  named  on  the 
lucus  a  nan  luccndo  principle,  for  it  is  neither  a 
valley  (Thai)  nor  are  there  roses  in  it.  It  is  on 
the  contrary  a  large  and  perfectly  level  plain,  the 
outskirts  of  which'  are  overgrown  with  maple 


86          A.  Norseman's  Pilgrimage. 

and  beech  forest,  while  the  middle  part  seems 
hardly  yet  to  have  been  reclaimed  from  its 
natural  state  of  moor  and  pasture  land.  But  the 
principal  feature  of  the  park,  speaking  from  a 
German  point  of  view,  is  the  large  and  excellent 
restaurant,  with  its  rudely  frescoed  pavilions,  its 
fragrant  coffee,  and  its  old-world  look  of  cheer 
and  comfort.  Our  wanderers,  however,  did  not 
on  this  occasion  yield  to  the  temptation  of 
the  restaurant,  but  wended  their  way  onward 
beneath  the  shady  crowns  of  the  full-leafed 
beeches.  Ruth  assumed  to-day,  as  ever,  a  patron- 
izing attitude  toward  the  natives ;  and  Varberg, 
who  seldom  of  his  own  accord  discovered  the 
humorous  side  of  anything — abstract  or  concrete 
— was  soon  allured  into  a  heartier  participation 
in  her  merriment,  and  even  astonished  himself 
by  little  speeches  which  a  month  ago  he  would 
have  condemned  as  flippant  and  irreverent,  had 
they  been  uttered  by  anybody  but  himself.  As 
they  entered  a  little  side  path,  at  the  end  of 
which  a  green  arbor  invited  to  rest,  Ruth  discov- 
ered a  voluminous  Leipsicker  who,  with  half-open 
eyes  and  a  fat,  lazy  expression  in  his  counte- 
nance, lay  outstretched  on  a  bench  at  the  road- 


In  Rosenthal.  87 

side;  half  a  dozen  ruddy-cheeked  and  sleepy- 
looking  children,  who  appeared  to  be  all  of  about 
the  same  age,  played  in  a  sort  of  meek  fashion 
about  him  on  the  grass,  while  occasional  grunts 
broke  from  the  worthy  parent's  throat,  indicating 
his  parental  watchfulness  and  supervision. 

"  Behold  a  typical  Saxon,"  said  Varberg. 

"  I  should  rather  say  a  typical  Leipsicker," 
remarked  Ruth. 

"  How  would  you  define,  or  what  place  in  the 
animal  kingdom  would  you  assign  to  the  native 
Leipsicker?  " 

"  If  I  had  to  write  an  essay  about  him,  I 
think  I  should  have  to  commence  in  this  way : 
The  native  Leipsicker  is  an  amphibium.  His 
blood  is  lukewarm,  and  he  breathes  by  means 
of  lungs,  but  a  close  observer  will  detect  an 
indication  of  gills  on  the  nether  side  of  the 
jaws.  His  favorite  element  is  lager  beer ;  but 
but  on  a  warm  day  the  male  may  be  seen  sun- 
ning himself  on  the  banks  of  Rosenthal,  etc." 

There  is  always  mystery  enough  about  a 
forest  arbor  to  gently  attune  two  hearts  into 
mutual  sympathy.  Varberg  had  enjoyed  her 
merry  sarcasms  ;  he  had  laughed  at  the  drollness 


88          A  Norseman  s  Pilgrimage.  • 

of  her  criticisms,  and  he  had  even  succeeded 
beyond  his  expectation  in  entering  into  her 
mood.  Nevertheless  this  was  not  his  way  of 
looking  upon  life ;  she  saw  only  the  grotesque 
and  ludicrous,  while  his  chief  pleasure  was  to 
note  the  quaint  and  the  picturesque,  to  detect 
the  fleeting  shades  and  miances  of  color,  and  to 
catch  characteristic  glimpses  of  the  land  and  the 
people  r.mong  whom  he  was  living.  Unhappily 
they  were  both  a  little  exclusive,  and  their  point 
of  view  one-sided.  Had  Olaf  possessed  her 
quick  sense  of  humor,  or  had  she  been  gifted 
with  his  keen  sight  for  the  picturesque,  they 
would  both  have  been  more  ideal  companions, 
and  would  perhaps  have  reaped  greater  profit 
from  their  German  sojourn  than  they  did.  As 
it  was,  their  views  and  purposes  came  into 
constant  collision,  and  there  was  a  Wartburg  or 
a  forest  arbor,  or  some  equally  romantic  neigh- 
borhood needed  to  breathe  upon  some  hidden 
chord  in  her  bosom  so  as  to  make  it  "vibrate  in 
conscious  sympathy  with  him.  There  was  to 
him  a  delicious  sense  of  security  in  being  thus 
shut  out  from  all  the  obtrusive  world,  and  being, 
if  but  for  moment,  alone  in  this  secluded  forest 


In  Rosenthal.  89 

haunt  with  one  so  young  and  so  wondrously  fair. 
A  stray  glint  of  sunshine  fell  through  the  leaves 
and  hung  trembling  above  her  head,  and  he  now 
noticed  for  the  first  time  that  she  had  on  her  hat 
a  small  bird  of  paradise  which,  with  open  bill, 
seemed  to  pursue  a  glittering  little  bug,  attached 
to  a  straw  at  half  an  inch's  distance. 

"  She  certainly  has  fancy,"  he  thought,  "  and 
what  is  more,  she  has  the  courage  to  trust  in  the 
verdict  of  her  own  taste.3' 

"Tell  me,  Mr.  Varberg,"  said  Ruth  abruptly, 
piercing  a  maple  leaf  and  balancing  it  on  the  end 
of  her  parasol ;  "  how  did  you  ever  conceive  the 
idea  of  writing  a  book?  " 

"  I  was  not  aware  that  I  had  ever  claimed  in 
your  presence  the  character  of  an  author." 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  have,"  and  she  looked  up 
archly.  "  It  is  of  no  use  to  try  to  disguise 
yourself  before  me.  I  had  read  your  book  some 
time  before  I  saw  you,  and  I  discovered  at  Wart- 
burg  who  you  were,  even  before  you  gave  me 
your  name." 

"  You  astonish  me,  Miss  Copley.  However, 
in  regard  to  your  question,  it  is  very  difficult  to 
say  when  or  how  'any  one  conceives  the  idea  of 


9<D          A  Norseman  s  Pilgrimage. 

writing  a  book.  I  wrote  my  first  book  when  I 
was  ten  years  old ;  only  it  was  never  printed. 
Since  then  I  have  assumed  to  myself  the  charac- 
ter of  an  author,  and  even  if  my  tales  and  poems 
were  never  printed,  and  no  one  else  was  willing 
to  recognize  me  in  my  assumed  capacity,  it  would 
still  be  as  natural  to  me  to  write  as  it  would  be 
to  eat  and  to  sleep,  and  I  should  until  the  day 
of  my  death  look  upon  myself  as  an  author." 

"  How  strange,"  she  murmured  absently,  and 
then  suddenly  straightening  herself  up,  she  added 
in  a  livelier  tone,  "  Have  you  the  patience  to 
listen  to  a  little  secret  of  mine  which  I  feel  in- 
clined to  confide  to  you  ?  " 

"  I  am  all  attention." 

"  Very  well  then.  You  would  hardly  believe 
it,  but  I  too  once  wrote  a  story.  I  wrote  it,  not 
because  I  felt  it  an  inward  necessity  to  write,  but 
because  I  thought  it  would  be  nice  to  see  some- 
thing of  my  own  in  print.  And  then,  you  know, 
most  people  think,  when  they  have  read  a  novel, 
that  they  might  just  as  well  have  written  it  them- 
selves ;  and  with  young  girls  at  least  I  know  it 
is  a  very  natural  impulse  to  test  their  capacity 


/;/  Rosenthal.  91 

at  once,  and  to  try  in  some  way  or  other  to  im- 
itate what  they  read." 

"  And  may  I  ask  what  was  the  fate  of  your 
book?" 

"  Wait  a  little.  I  have  not  got  to  that  point 
yet.  I  plotted  the  story,  and  I  thought  at  the 
time  that  it  was  quite  as  good  as  a  hundred  I 
had  read.  But  when  I  commenced  to  write  it, 
innumerable  difficulties  presented  themselves; 
and  what  especially  puzzled  me  was  that  my 
characters  would  invariably  get  talking  on  some 
profound  topic  which  I  myself  knew  nothing 
about.  And  then,  you  see,  I  would  always  come 
to  a  sudden  stop.  At  last  I  gave  it  up  in  de- 
spair, and  owned  that  I  was  not  born  an  author- 
ess. But  since  that  time  I  have  had  a  sincere 
respect  for  those  who  possessed  the  gift  which 
was  denied  me." 

"  I  can  hardly  take  the  compliment  to  myself, 
Miss  Copley,"  replied  Varberg,  "  since  my  incipi- 
ent authorship  has  as  yet  proved  nothing.  It 
may  be  all  assumption  on  my  part,  but,"  he 
added  after  a  pause,  "  it  will  at  least  take  a  life- 
time to  convince  me  of  it." 

"  I  shall  not'flatter  you,"  she  said  laughing; 


92          A  N orsemari  s  Pilgrimage. 

"  although  I  have  a  tempting  opportunity  to  do 
so."  And  both  arose  and  turned  into  a  narrow 
path  leading  to  an  oak  which  has  lately  been 
planted  in  commemoration  of  the  German  vic- 
tories over  France.  Ruth  began  to  talk  about 
America,  and  mentioned  some  friends  of  hers  in 
Boston  whose  acquaintance  she  hoped  Varberg 
would  make  when  he  should  return  to  the  city 
of  the  Puritans.  Varberg  also  mentioned  some 
friend  of  his,  and  wondered  that  she  had  never 
heard  of  him. 

"  He  is  a  very  good — in  fact,  an  excellent 
young  man,"  he  said. 

"  Oh,  I  am  sure  I  should  dislike  him," 
answered  she  emphatically.  "  I  always  dislike 
excellent  young  men." 

"  I  am  afraid  I  don't  understand  you." 
"  No ;  I  am  afraid  you  do  not.  When  any- 
body tells  me  that  a  young  man  is  good  or  ex- 
cellent, I  always  infer  that  he  is  stupid.  For  if 
he  wasn't,  people  would  think  of  something  else 
to  say  about  him.  And  stupid  men  I  have  no 
patience  with." 

"And  do  you  apply  the  same  test  to  ladies  ?" 
"  Well,  it  isn't  so  unpardonable  in  ladies  to 


In  Rosen  thai.  93 

be  stupid.  In  fact,  they  are  in  a  way  shut  out 
from  the  great  interests  of  mankind.  They 
move  in  an  old,  steady-going  routine,  and  if 
they  have  no  great  aims  or  aspirations  to  spur 
them  on,  they  can  hardly  escape  being  dull  and 
commonplace.  And  you  have,  no  doubt,  your- 
self noticed  how  uncharitable  men  are  toward 
those  very  women  who  have  the  courage  to  rise 
a  little  above  what  is  called  their  proper  sphere 
of  life.  What  a  man  demands  of  a  woman  is 
innocence  and  stupidity." 

Varberg  tacitly  admitted  the  justice  of  her 
accusation,  and  she  suspected  from  his  silence 
that  he  agreed  with  her. 

"  To  authors,"  he  said  after  a  pause,  "  these 
women  whom  you  call  dull  and  commonplace 
are  often  as  interesting  as  those  who  rise  above 
their  sphere." 

"  How  so,  pray  ?     You  speak  in  riddles." 

"I  am  afraid  I  shall  give  you  a  wrong  im- 
pression if  I  attempt  to  explain  what  I  mean. 
However,  since  I  have  said  A.  I  must  say  B  also.* 
As  a  reporter  or  a  newspaper  correspondent  is 
apt  to  look  upon  the  v/orld  as  a  conglomerate  of 

*  A  Norwegian  proverb. 


94         -d.  Norseman's  Pilgrimage. 

items,  so  an  author  is  in  danger  of  regarding  it 
as  a  confused  heap  of  plots,  which  it  is  for  him 
to  discover,  to  disentangle,  and  to  arrange  into 
a  symmetrical  work  of  art.  If  he  sees  joy  or 
suffering,  happy  or  unhappy  events,  he  may 
merely  estimate  their  literary  value,  and  wonder 
how  they  would  look  in  print ;  and  the  most 
dangerous  part  of  it  is  that,  like  a  dissecting 
surgeon,  he  may  soon  lose  his  sympathy  and 
fellow-feeling  for  his  brethren.  He  rejoices  in  a 
fine  burst  of  despair,  keenly  relishes  a  deep  and 
exalted  grief,  and  derives  an  intense  enjoyment 
from  every  pure  and  vigorous  expression  of  emo- 
tion which  may  come  in  his  way." 

He  would  have  continued  his  harangue,  but 
here  his  fair  companion  stopped,  as  if  in  surprise, 
and  looked  him  wistfully  in  the  eye. 

"  What  horrid  people  authors  must  be !  "  she 
exclaimed.  "  I  take  back  every  word  I  have 
said  about  my  loyalty  and  respect  for  them." 

"  Wait  until  I  have  finished.  Mind,  I  don't 
say  that  authors  are  as  I  have  described  them. 
I  have  merely  said  that  they  are  in  danger  of 
becoming  so.  Thus,  as  long  as  your  common- 
place ladies  are  capable  of  a  pure,  human  emo- 


In  Rosenthal.  95 

tion,  they  are  objects  of  interest  to  an  author. 
He  often  imagines  himself  standing  upon  a  high 
pedestal,  like  a  Simon  Stylites,  and  he  sees  the 
noisy  whirl  of  life  eddying  about  his  pillar,  but 
he  is  not  moved.  Life  becomes  a  pageantry 
to  him  in  a  more  specific  sense.  Pure,  typical 
features  delight  him,  and  men  and  women 
assume  in  their  relation  to  him  merely  the  char- 
acter of  good  or  bad  figures  for  a  story.  But 
remember,  this  is  merely  an  imaginary  picture. 
If  authors  were  not  human  enough  to  fall  in 
love,  it  would  be  a  real  one.  But  unhappily, 
from  their  exalted  station,  they  are  very  likely 
to  discover  some  maidenly  face,  typical  or  not ; 
a  wild  longing  seizes  them  ;  they  madly  plunge 
down  into  the  whirlpool  in  pursuit  of  this 
maiden,  and  if  they  find  her,  are  henceforth 
content  to  read  nothing  but  the  tender  mystery 
of  her  heart,  and  to  see  nothing  but  that  little 
domestic  idyl  which  soon  nestles  about  them." 

"  Your  picture  is  certainly  a  striking  one.  I 
never  looked  upon  it  in  that  way  before.  But 
vou  say  '  unhappily  ' ;  do  you  then  think  that  it 
is  a  misfortune  to  be  capable  of  love  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know,"  he  murmured  sadly.     Their 


g6          A  Norseman's  Pilgrimage. 

eyes  met  in  a  quick  glance.  "  I  only  wish  that 
I  was  myself  less  capable  of  it." 

A  deep  blush  stole  over  her  cheeks,  and  she 
unconsciously  hastened  her  steps.  In  a  few  min- 
utes they  reached  the  memorial  oak,  which  was 
hedged  in  by  an  open  iron  fence.  The  small  en- 
closure within  was  laid  out  into  flower  beds,  in 
which  grew  pansies,  lilies,  and  tulips  in  many- 
colored  profusion. 

"  What  a  beautiful  pansy  !  "  Ruth  exclaimed, 
pointing  with  her  hand  through  the  iron  bars. 
"  I  never  saw  a  larger  one." 

No  sooner  had  she  uttered  the  words  than  he 
bounded  over  the  fence,  picked  the  flower,  and 
handed  it  to  her. 

"  But,  Mr.  Varberg,  what  are  you  doing  ? " 
she  cried  in  a  frightened  voice.  "  Don't  you 
know  that  it  is  forbidden  to  pick  those  flowers? 
If  the  police  saw  you,  they  would  arrest  you." 

"What  do  I  care  for  the  police?"  said  he, 
as  he  stood  again  at  her  side.  "  Not  all  the 
police  in  the  German  empire  could  prevent  me 
from  taking  a  flower  if — if — you  wanted  it,"  he 
added  in  a  precipitous  flutter.  She  took  the 
pansy,  and  they  moved  on.  A  strange  reckless- 


In  Rosenthal.  97 

ness  had  come  over  him  ;  in  one  moment  he  felt 
hot  and  flushed,  and  in  the  next  he  shivered. 
He  was  afraid  of  speaking  lest  he  should  betray 
his  agitation. 

"  Do  not  hold  the  flower  in  your  left  hand, 
Miss  Copley,"  he  said  at  last,  when  the  silence 
became  too  oppressive.  "  It  will  wither.  You 
are  aware  that  there  is  an  old  superstition 
about  it,  and  you  know  I  claim  to  be  super- 
stitious." 

"  It  will  die  and  become  a  ghost,"  answered 
Ruth  musingly,  and  looking  at  the  flower.  "  You 
remember  what  you  told  me  about  the  elf  maid- 
ens. And  the  flower-ghost  will  haunt  you  and 
tread  an  airy  dance  about  you  in  the  moonlight. 
All,  you  see  I  have  profited  by  your  instruction. 
It  is  strange,"  she  added  after  a  pause,  <lall 
your  legendary  beings  show  a  predilection  for 
men.  One  seldom  hears  of  their  molesting 
women." 

He  was  not  in  the  mood  for  legends  to-day, 
and  the  topic  was  soon  dropped.  On  their 
way  back  to  the  city  they  met  the  Baron  von 
Weisskopf,  and  as  he  had  the  rudeness  to  stop 
and  talk  to  Varberg,  the  latter  had  hardly  any 


98          A  Norse-mail's  Pilgrimage. 

choice  but  to  introduce  him  ;  but  he  did  it  with  a 
fierce  scowl  on  his  brow  and  in  an  indifferent  voice, 
which  must  have  puzzled  his  friend  exceedingly. 

"  Aha,"  said  the  Baron  to  himself,  as  he 
turned  to  the  restaurant's  pavilion  to  order  his 
coffee  with  Curasao,  "  he  is  studying  the  American 
tongue  for  the  present.  That  accounts  for  it." 

"  What  a  magnificent  neck  he  had  !  "  observed 
Ruth  to  her  companion. 

"  Yes,  his  neck  is  his  most  prominent  feature," 
answered  Varberg. 

Under  the  old  archway  of  the  house  where 
she  lived  they  parted. 

"  You  will  come  and  see  us  very  often  now, 
won't  you  ?"  said  she,  as  she  reached  him  her 
hand  and  vanished  through  the  door. 

With  an  airily  uncertain  tread,  and  the  ab- 
surdest  fancies  hovering  through  his  brain,  Var- 
berg reached  his  own  dwelling.  Now  he  hummed 
a  snatch  of  a  song,  now  he  thrust  his  hands  into 
his  pocket,  and  began  to  march  distractedly  up 
and  down  the  floor  ;  now  again  he  wondered 
what  he  had  thought  about  the  minute  before, 
paused  suddenly  in  his  walk,  and  placed  his  finger 
meditatively  on  his  nose. 


In  Rosenthal.  99 

«  Good  heavens !  "  cried  he  aloud.  "  What 
can  be  the  matter  with  me  ?  I  never  felt  so  in 
my  life  before." 

In  order  to  find  something  to  occupy  his 
thought,  he  opened  his  writing  desk  and  began 
to  glance  over  some  old  letters  and  poems.  And 
from  out  of  the  old  verses  his  former  self  seemed 
to  stare  upon  him  like  an  indignant  ghost,  up- 
braiding him  for  having  disturbed  its  peace.  It 
appeared  a  perfect  mystery  to  Varberg  that  he 
had  ever  been  as  those  poems  showed  him  to 
have  been,  and  still  he  distinctly  remembered  the 
occasion ;  it  was  only  a  few  months  since  they 
had  been  written. 

"  What  wretched  stuff! "  he  exclaimed  at  last. 
And  he  went  to  the  window,  tore  the  poems  to 
small  pieces,  and  scattered  the  fragments  on  the 
wind.  Like  a  swarm  of  frightened  butterflies  they 
rose  and  fell  in  the  air,  whirled  giddily  around 
and  flew  out  over  the  roofs  of  the  city.  Olaf  even 
wondered  if  one  of  them  might  not  reach  Ruth's 
window,  and  he  was  about  to  construct  a  little 
romance  out  of  it,  when  it  struck  him  that  it  was 
a  very  trite  and  threadbare  sentiment. 


loo        A  Norseman's  Pilgrimage. 

CHAPTER  VI. 

Brother  Jonathan  s  Ball. 

"F^v  URING  the  following  four  weeks  there  was 
•*-^  hardly  a  day  in  which  Ruth  and  Varberg 
did  not  meet.  If  he  stayed  away  for  a  couple  of 
days,  she  accused  him  of  being  unneighborly,  and 
he  was  too  conscientious  to  plead  business  or  ac- 
cidental obstacles,  when  all  the  time  he  felt  that 
no  business  in  the  world  would  have  had  the 
power  to  call  him  away  from  her  side.  But  the 
truth  was,  he  was  living  in  a  state  of  perpetual 
struggle  with  himself;  his  life  seemed  but  one 
long-continued  contradiction.  And  at  certain 
periods,  fresh  scruples  would  beset  him,  and 
strange  misgivings  would  fill  his  heart.  Was  it 
merely  an  aesthetic  regard  he  felt  for  Ruth  ?  Was 
it  merely  the  artist  in  him  who  admired  and  loved 
her?  and  was  it  only  as  the  possible  heroine  of 
a  future  story  that  he  felt  his  heart  warming  to- 
ward her  and  his  thoughts  circling  about  her  in 


Brother  Jonathans  Ball.         101 

unending  and  ever-narrowing  spheres  ?  And  sup- 
pose that  his  attitude  toward  her  was  merely 
that  of  a  disinterested  observer:  was  it  then  the 
part  of  an  upright  and  honorable  man  to  steal  thus 
occultly,  under  the  cover  of  friendship,  into  a 
young  girl's  heart,  only  to  explore  its  hidden 
workings,  and  then  expose  it  ruthlessly  to  the 
stare  of  an  unsympathetic  multitude  ?  He  might 
try  to  persuade  himself  as  much  as  he  pleased, 
that  he  did  it  for  the  benefit  of  art,  which  stands 
high  above  all  the  petty  interests  of  the  individ- 
ual ;  the  better  part  of  his  nature  would  still  re- 
bel against  this  kind  of  proceeding;  and  the 
result  was  that  Varberg  the  man  and  Varberg 
the  artist  declared  each  other  war,  and  never 
wearied  of  heaping  upon  each  other  the  fiercest 
accusations.  Varberg  the  artist  however,  gained 
an  advantage  which  he  persistently  clung  to ; 
it  was  absurd,  he  said,  to  think  that  Ruth 
should  return  the  tender  regard  which  he  pro- 
fessed to  cherish  for  her.  It  was  on  her  part 
simply  a  friendship — a  mere  Platonic  relation. 
Probably  the  thought  of  love  had  never  entered 
her  head.  Thus  persuaded,  our  Norseman  would 
again,  in  a  tenderly  melancholy  mood,  wend  his 


IO2        A  Norseman's  Pilgrimage. 

way  toward  the  house  with  the  archway,  and  as 
he  entered  the  bright  and  cosy  little  parlor,  and 
his  eyes  again  eagerly  drank  the  ever-fresh  delight 
of  her  presence,  he  seemed  to  himself  a  famished 
wanderer  who  falls  down  exhausted  at  the  border 
of  the  oasis,  content  to  feel,  if  not  to  taste,  the 
gifts  of  its  bounty.  He  would  often  sit  for 
hours  wondering  at  the  perfection  of  outline  in 
her  bust  and  countenance,  and  admiring  the  grace 
and  elastic  harmony  of  their  curves ;  there  was 
something  Juno-like  in  them,  he  thought.  She 
was  evidently  not  of  Germanic  origin  ;  there  was 
a  classic  repose  in  the  poise  of  her  head,  and 
there  was  merely  a  more  single  and  primitive 
costume  needed  to  reveal  in  her  the  plastic  grace 
of  the  Periclean  age.  But  with  all  this  you  would 
detect  in  her  glance,  in  the  ensemble  of  her  face, 
and  perhaps  in  the  very  features  which  Varberg 
liked  to  call  Greek,  something  which  instantly 
excluded  the  possibility  of  an  old-world  birth  ; 
perhaps  it  was  a  certain  unconsciousness  of  re- 
straint, a  wholesome  (or  as  Varberg  styled  it, 
shocking)  disrespect  for  tradition.  At  all  events, 
her  whole  being  breathed  the  ethereal  loveliness 
of  American  womanhood. 


Brother  Jonathans  Ball.          103 

There  was  something  ineffably  delicious  in 
these  silent  reveries — a  luxury  of  being,  a  dolce 
far  nienfe,  which  was  rendered  the  sweeter  by 
the  consciousness  that  it  was  shared  by  her.  In 
such  moments  these  lines  of  Keats  would  float 
dimly  through  his  mind  : 

Dark  nor  light 

The  region  ;  nor  bright  nor  sombre  wholly, 
But  mingled  up  ;  a  gleaming  melancholy ; 
A  dusky  empire  and  its  diadems  ; 
One  faint  eternal  eventide  of  gems. 

Keats  had  been  his  first  love  among  poets ;  it 
was  while  turning  over  the  leaves  of  his  solitary 
volume  that  he  had  caught  the  first  glimpse  of 
the  golden  ore  of  the  English  tongue,  and  delv- 
ing deeper,  he  had  been  startled  at  the  revela- 
tion of  all  its  unceasing  wonder  and  delight.  In 
Keats  he  had  also  found  a  line  which  for  its 
association  with  Ruth  had  become  infinitely  dear 
to  him: 

Perhaps  the  self-same  song  that  found  a  path 
Through  the  sad  heart  of  Ruth  when,  sick  for  home, 
She  stood  in  tears  amid  the  alien  corn. 

To  be  sure  he  had  never  seen  Ruth  in  tears, 
nor  did  he  imagine  that  she  was  "  sick  for  home," 
but  nevertheless  the  chasteness,  the  sculptur- 


IO4       A  Norseman's  Pilgrimage. 

esque  purity  of  the  verse  could  not  but  suggest 
her.  Ruth's  cheeks  were  like  the  fresh-fallen 
snow,  not  in  tint,  but  because  they  looked  as  if 
they  had  never  been  touched,  and  her  lips  were 
as  if  they  had  never  been  kissed. 

Ruth  had  soon  discovered  that  her  friend  was 
a  dilettante  in  music,  and  after  some  hesitation 
he  had  consented  to  come  and  play  duets  with 
her  once  a  week.  For  a  time  he  was  quite  en- 
thusiastic in  his  devotion  to  the  noble  art,  and 
even  practised  faithfully,  but  his  fingers  had  lost 
their  suppleness,  and  he  could  no  longer  perform 
those  feats  of  manual  dexterity  which  Liszt's 
and  Van  Billow's  arrangements  require.  By  vir- 
tue of  patient  labor,  however,  and  a  good  deal 
of  forbearance  on  her  part,  he  brought  it  so  far 
that  he  could  play  the  bass  with  tolerable  ac- 
curacy (and  he  was  artist  enough  to  do  it  un- 
obtrusively) while  she  managed  the  treble  part 
with  consummate  skill.  If  he  lost  his  place,  she 
swiftly  pointed  to  it  with  her  finger ;  if  he  was 
a  measure  behind,  she  at  once  noticed  it,  and 
adapted  herself  to  him  ;  and  if  he  missed  a  flat 
or  a  sharp,  her  finger  was  in  an  instant  on  the 
right  key,  and  all  the  time  her  own  part  was 


Brother  Jonathan's  Ball.          105 

rendered  to  perfection.  Varberg  enjoyed  these 
musical  evenings  well  enough,  but  he  confessed 
to  himself  that  he  felt  just  a  trifle  humiliated  at 
being  corrected  even  by  her,  and  that  it  was  a 
relief  to  him  when  she  gave  him  furlough  and 
allowed  him  lazily  to  listen  to  her  own  improvi- 
sations. 

Varberg  had,  without  any  special  effort  of 
his  own,  soon  established  himself  in  Mrs.  Elder's 
favor.  The  old  lady,  although  she  would  per- 
sist in  Anglicizing  his  name  into  Warbeck  and 
even  Warble,  seemed  to  entertain  a  very  cordial 
regard  for  him.  In  her  opinion  it  was  a  sad 
mistake  that  all  the  world  had  not  been  made  to 
speak  English ;  and  it  always  remained  a  mys- 
tery to  her  how  people  could  communicate  with 
each  other  in  any  other  tongue.  Against  the 
German  she  moreover  cherished  a  kind  of  per- 
sonal resentment ;  she  did  not  dare  say  so,  but 
nevertheless  it  remained  a  source  of  fresh  wonder 
to  her  how  even  children  could  express  them- 
selves with  fluency  in  such  a  harsh  and  bar- 
barous language.  It  was  amusing  to  see  the 
puzzled  frown  on  her  face  when  the  servant 
maid  came  ia  and  addressed  some  greeting  or 
5* 


IO6       A  Norseman's  Pilgrimage. 

question  to  her ;  and  Ruth  asserted  that  when 
she  had  nothing  else  to  do  she  usually  went 
shopping  with  her  aunt,  for  the  mere  sport  of 
seeing  the  latter's  indignant  stare  at  being  con- 
fronted with  the  Teuton  clerks,  and  her  un- 
abated surprise  at  finding  the  German  the 
language  of  every  store  they  entered.  And  on 
such  occasions  Mrs.  Elder,  when  she  had  recov- 
ered from  her  first  shock,  would  never  cease  to 
marvel  at  the  vastness  of  her  niece's  attainments, 
although  her  indiscriminate  linguistic  taste 
awarded  a  similar  verdict  of  intellectual  superi- 
ority to  Miss  Bailey,  whose  German  was  only 
remarkable  for  its  reckless  defiance  of  gender 
and  syntax. 

It  was  in  the  last  days  of  June  that  a 
wealthy  American  residing  in  Leipsic  gathered 
the  tlite  of  the  English-speaking  population  at 
his  house,  for  what  was  informally  called  "a 
social  hop."  The  secret  was  let  out  some  days 
before  the  invitations  came,  and  the  pupils  of 
the  Conservatory  were  all  in  a  flutter,  and 
puzzled  themselves  with  endless  conjectures  as 
to  who  were  to  be  among  the  favored  few.  It 
was  also  rumored  that  some  aristocratic  German 


Brother  Jonathans  Ball.          107 

friends  were  to  be  there.  Ruth,  Varberg,  and 
Miss  Bailey  each  received  a  dainty  little  note 
requesting  the  honor  of  their  presence,  and 
they  very  naturally  agreed  to  go  together ;  Var- 
berg  of  course  reserved  for  himself  the  pleasure 
of  procuring  a  carriage,  and  the  ladies  were  in 
return  to  consider  themselves  as  being  under  his 
special  charge.  At  the  appointed  time  he  made 
his  appearance  in  the  usual  unpicturesque  attire 
of  this  century's  cavaliers,  and  Mrs.  Elder  re- 
ported that  the  ladies  would  soon  be  ready ;  but 
as  Varberg  had  sufficient  experience  in  such 
matters  to  know  that  "  soon  "  meant  at  least  an 
hour,  he  made  himself  comfortable  in  the  sofa 
corner,  and  resolved  to  be  patient.  Mrs.  Elder 
first  asked  him  whether  people  ate  meat  in  his 
country  (she  had  a  dim  impression  that  they 
fed  on  tallow  candles),  and  having  been  satis- 
fied on  this  point,  gave  an  account  of  Dearie's 
experience  as  a  pupil  in  a  Leipsic  school. 

"  It  was  a  most  excellent  school,"  said  the 
old  lady.  "They  had  Brussels  carpets  on  the 
floors  in  the  school-rooms — and  you  know 
carpets  are  not  a  common  luxury  in  this  country 
— and  they  had  servants  who  waited  upon  the 


io8       A  Norseman's  Pilgrimage. 

scholars  and  reached  them  their  books  and 
everything  they  wanted.  But  then  the  teacher 
asked  Dearie  what  the  capital  of  the  United 
States  was  called,  and  Dearie  said  that  it  was 
Washington.  'Why,  don't  you  know  better?' 
said  the  teacher.  '  It  is  New  York.'  Dearie  of 
course  couldn't  stand  that,  and  she  came  home 
crying,  and  since  then  she  hasn't  been  there." 

Varberg  expressed  his  approval  of  Dearie's 
action,  and  Mrs.  Elder  again  gave  vent  to  her 
curiosity  about  the  mode  of  life  among  the  Nor- 
wegians, whom,  in  spite  of  his  assertion  to  the 
contrary,  she  would  persist  in  confounding  with 
the  Laplanders.  Did  they  have  railroads  in 
Norway  ?  didn't  the  ladies  there  wear  sheepskin 
dresses  for  evening  parties  ?  and  didn't  the  gen- 
tlemen in  polite  society  kick  the  rafter  in  the 
ceiling  when  entering  a  room  ?  If  she  had 
intended  to  banter  him,  Varberg  would  have 
received  her  questions  as  pleasantry,  and  an- 
swered accordingly ;  but  the  distressing  part  of 
it  was  that  she  evidently  spoke  in  good  faith, 
and  even  cited  authorities  for  her  opinions  when- 
ever he  ventured  to  contradict  her.  She  knew 
she  had  read  it  somewhere,  she  said. 


Brother  Jonathans  Ball.          109 

In  the  meanwhile  a  richly  perfumed  breeze 
(which  made  the  lamp  flutter)  and  an  ethereal 
silken  rustle  announced  Ruth's  arrival,  and  Var- 
berg  suddenly  grew  very  unpatriotic,  and  re- 
fused to  listen  to  Mrs.  Elder's  discourse  about 
Norway.  But  Dearie  was  not  yet  ready,  and 
Mrs.  Elder  was  too  much  warmed  up  to  drop  the 
subject  at  so  critical  a  moment.  The  young  man 
grew  more  and  more  uneasy,  then  vexed,  and 
at  last  came  very  near  being  impolite ;  but  Ruth 
came  to  his  rescue. 

"  I  am  very  sorry  to  have  kept  you  waiting 
so  long,  Mr.  Varberg,"  said  she. 

"  Never  mind,  dear,"  interposed  Mrs.  Elder. 
"We  have  had  a  very  pleasant  time  indeed. 
Mr.  Warbeck  has  been  telling  me  about  his 
country." 

"Ah!"  exclaimed  Ruth  with  animation. 
"  Do  not  let  me  interrupt  you.  I  shall  sit  here 
quietly  and  listen.  I  am  as  much  interested 
as  aunt." 

There  was  once  more  a  great  rustle  of  silk 
and  freshly-ironed  skirts  while  she  gathered  up 
her  dress  and  let  herself  drop  down  on  the 
piano  stooL  She  crossed  her  hands  in  her  lap, 


no       A  Norseman's  Pilgrimage. 

threw  her  head  back,  "  Well,  now  you  may 
begin.  I  am  all  attention." 

Now  Olaf  had  ever  been  proud  of  his  coun- 
try ;  but  at  this  moment  he  hated  it,  because  it 
seemed  to  remove  him  from  her  ;  he  hated  Mrs. 
Elder  for  reminding  him  of  their  dissimilarity, 
and  he  even  hated  that  part  of  his  own  life 
which  he  had  not  shared  with  Ruth. 

Never  had  Miss  Bailey  appeared  lovelier  in 
his  eyes ;  and  never  had  she  been  more  wel- 
come. He  instinctively  made  the  reflection  that 
a  ball  attire  does  make  even  the  plainest  look 
attractive.  Little  did  he  heed  the  numerous 
injunctions  from  Mrs.  Elder,  about  coming  home 
in  time,  taking  care  that  the  ladies  didn't  drink 
ice-water  when  they  were  warm,  etc.  In  an 
agreeably  festive  mood  they  descended  the 
stairs,  and  in  another  minute  the  carriage  door 
was  slammed  to,  and  they  rolled  away. 

On  the  way  Olaf  engaged  Ruth  for  the  first 
waltz  and  the  German  and  Miss  Bailey  for  two 
quadrilles.  As  the  former  stepped  from  the 
carriage  she  had  to  put  her  hands  on  his  shoul- 
ders and  to  make  a  little  leap  on  to  the  sidewalk ; 
and  Miss  Bailey  did  the  same.  In  the  hall  on 


BrotJier  Jonathans  Ball.          in 

the  second  floor  they  parted,  and  the  ladies  went 
to  the  dressing-room  ;  and  it  was  nearly  half  an 
hour  before  they  returned.  He  in  the  mean- 
while split  his  gloves  from  sheer  distraction,  and 
had  to  send  a  servant  out  to  buy  a  fresh  pair. 
Fortunately  he  reappeared  within  a  few  minutes. 
At  length,  when  Varberg's  patience  was  nearly 
gone,  he  felt  a  light  pressure  on  his  arm — it 
was  Ruth. 

We  would  fain  gratify  the  reader  with  a  de- 
scription of  what  Ruth  had  on,  but  Varberg's 
journal,  to  which  we  are  indebted  for  the  plot  of 
the  present  story,  contains  only  the  following 
passage  which  we  prefer  to  quote  in  the  original : 
"  She  was  dressed  in  some  sort  of  corn-colored 
stuff  trimmed  with  black.  She  looked  lovely  as 
a  fresh-opened  rosebud.  I  don't  think  it  was 
moire  antique,  nor  was  it  calico." 

The  host  and  his  daughter  received  the  guests 
at  the  door.  The  former  was  a  tall  and  thin  man, 
with  a  Brother-Jonathan  face  and  beard,  and  a 
huge  diamond  pin  in  his  shirt-bosom  :  the  daugh- 
ter was  a  pretty,  fair-haired  damsel,  with  an  in- 
significant little  face,  and  as  Varberg  maliciously 
remarked,  she  had,  somehow  or  other,  the  air  of 


112        A  Norsemaris  Pilgrimage. 

having  been  bred  in  the  oil  regions.  She  evidently 
had  taken  this  position  at  her  father's  side  as  a 
souffleur,  for  whenever  a  guest  appeared  she  whis- 
pered his  or  her  name,  and  the  father  made  a 
feeble  attempt  at  imitating  it,  but  usually  with 
indifferent  success. 

As  Varberg,  with  Ruth  on  his  arm,  prom- 
enaded down  the  length  of  the  large,  well-lighted 
room,  he  heard  some  one  exclaiming,  as  if  quite 
involuntarily,  "  Donnerwetter?  Wie  wunder- 
schon  !  "  He  turned  his  head  indignantly,  and 
to  his  astonishment  saw  his  friend  the  Baron. 
Ruth  dropped  her  eyes  and  blushed  slightly. 

"  I  wonder  how  he  happened  to  come  here," 
whispered  she. 

"  He  wishes  for  an  opportunity  to  study  Eng- 
lish," replied  Varberg  with  a  dry  laugh. 

The  musicians  began  to  tune  their  instru- 
ments. The  violins  scraped  and  twanged  with 
raising  and  falling  inflection ;  the  clarionets  ran 
through  some  introductory  trills ;  and  the  bass 
made' a  few  asthmatic  efforts  of  uncertain  descrip- 
tion ;  but  suddenly,  as  by  one  common  impulse, 
the  tones  rushed  together  into  a  warm  embrace, 
wound  their  soft  spirit  arms  around  each  other, 


Brother  Jonathans  Ball.          113 

and  waved  and  rocked  and  floated  onward  on 
the  delicious  billowing  rhythm  of  a  Strauss  waltz. 
One  couple  after  another  danced  out  on  the  floor. 
Varberg  laid  his  arm  about  Ruth's  waist ;  the  ex- 
hilarating music  seemed  to  have  entered  into  his 
feet,  and  with  the  same  softly  rhythmical  tread 
they  whirled  away  now  up,  now  down  the  room, 
now  swiftly  spinning  around,  now  with  a  slow, 
deliberate  step— in  short,  with  all  the  delightful 
caprices  of  well-practised  dancers. 

"Are  you  tired?"  he  whispered.  "Then 
only  let  me  know." 

"Never,"  answered  she  eagerly.  "I  never 
tire  of  a  good  waltz." 

At  length,  as  the  music  ceased,  he  led  her,  all 
aglow  with  pleasure,  to  the  corner  where  Dearie 
was  sitting.  Dearie  had  been  dancing  with  a 
Conservatory  friend  of  hers,  but  he  was  from  New 
York,  and  she  from  Indiana,  and  consequently 
they  couldn't  agree  on  any  one  kind  of  step.  She 
was  all  out  of  patience  with  him,  and  had  at  last 
proposed  to  abandon  the  attempt.  All  this  she 
told  her  cousin  and  her  partner  in  a  provoked 
voice  and  in  her  own  emphatic  way,  until  Varberg, 
who  on  account  of  her  relation  to  Ruth  had  a  kind 


H4       A  Norseman's  Pilgrimage. 

of  an  elder-brotherly  feeling  toward  her,  claimed 
her  partnership  for  the  appointed  quadrille.  In 
an  instant  the  Baron  von  Weisskopf  skipped 
across  the  floor  like  a  goat,  and  made  a  deep 
bow  to  Ruth ;  she  arose,  took  his  arm,  and 
walked  into  a  smaller  room,  where  it  appeared 
that  a  select  set  were  dancing.  Dearie  was  less 
interesting  than  usual  this  evening,  and  she  re- 
fused to  listen  to  Olafs  conversation.  She 
merely  asked  incessantly,  "Who  is  this?"  and 
"Who  is  that?"  and  when  he  was  unable  to 
satisfy  her  curiosity  she  pouted  and  shook  her 
ringlets  impatiently.  Later  in  the  evening  a  still 
greater  misfortune  befell  him.  As  the  company 
was  called  out  to  supper  he  happened  to  be  danc- 
ing a  galop  with  the  host's  daughter,  whose  re- 
sources of  conversation  were  deplorably  scanty. 

"Are  you  fond  of  dancing?"  she  said,  as 
they  sat  down  to  the  table.  He  gave  some 
commonplace  answer,  and  tried  to  introduce 
some  fresh  topic  ;  and  as  he  was  in  the  midst  of 
some  glowing  description,  he  heard  his  partner 
whispering  to  the  servant — 

|  "  Pass  the  sauce  for  the  turkey  to  the  next 
table."  And  a  minute  later,  in  an  undertone — 


Brother  Jonathans  Ball.          115 

"  Be  sure  that  there  is  enough  of  the  chicken 
salad.  Don't  bring  in  the  large  cake  before  I 
tell  you." 

This  was  truly  discouraging;  she  had  not 
heard  a  word  of  what  he  had  been  saying  ;  and 
as  she  observed  his  dismay,  she  hastened  to 
repair  the  wrong,  turned  a  smiling  face  on  him, 
and  asked  cheerily: 

"  You  are  very  fond  of  music,  aren't  you  ?  " 

He  stammered  a  faint  "  Yes,"  and  from  sheer 
vexation  ate  more  than  his  fill  of  the  chicken 
salad,  and  by  the  time  the  cake  came  was  unable 
to  swallow  another  bit.  Ruth  and  the  Baron, 
who  were  sitting  up  at  the  other  end  of  the  table, 
laughed  and  joked  and  seemed  with  every  min- 
ute to  advance  in  each  other's  favor. 

It  was  a  great  relief  to  Varberg  when  the 
supper  at  length  came  to  a  close.  He  rose  with 
such  vehemence  from  the  table  that  he  came 
near  upsetting  his  chair;  then  stepped  on  the 
dress  of  his  little  fair-haired  damsel,  begged 
her  pardon,  and  hastily  withdrew  to  a  remote 
corner  of  the  room.  The  music  again  scraped 
and  twanged,  and  presently  struck  up  a  deli- 
ciously  tuneful  "waltz,  with  that  soft  drowsi- 


n6       A  Norseman's  Pilgrimage. 

ness  in  it  which  is  so  appropriate  for  an  after- 
supper  dance.  Varberg  stood  mutely  listening 
to  its  alluring  murmur,  and  made  sarcastic  reflec- 
tions upon  every  one  who  came  within  the  reach 
of  his  eye.  At  last  he  came  to  the  conclusion 
that  he  really  disapproved  of  the  whole  company. 
There  Weisskopf  and  Ruth  whirled  past  him ; 
and  he  noticed  with  a  certain  satisfaction  that 
the  Baron  kicked  out  too  much  in  the  waltz, 
and  that  in  fact  his  whole  figure  looked  very  un- 
graceful. However,  Ruth  smiled  on  him,  and 
that  was  enough  to  make  Varberg  hate  him. 
The  music  stopped  rather  abruptly,  the  dancers 
dispersed  by  couples  through  the  adjoining 
rooms,  and  our  Norseman  looked  at  his  watch 
and  tried  to  steel  his  heart  against  all  future  vexa- 
tions. Then,  as  he  again  raised  his  head,  he  saw 
Ruth  hastening  toward  him  all  panting  and 
aglow  with  heat  and  pleasure,  and  he  keenly 
noted  a  certain  vehemence  in  her  motions  and 
the  superb  singleness  and  purity  in  the  combined 
lines  of  her  neck  and  hair.  He  was  secretly  in- 
dignant at  her  for  what  he  called  "  her  flirtation 
with  that  German  prize-fighter,"  but  his  wrath 
evaporated  like  the  dew-drops  in  the  sun,  and 


Brother  Jonathans  Ball.         117 

he  could  only  smile  stupidly  and  distractedly 
pull  at  his  watch-chain.  With  an  almost  sisterly 
frankness  she  addressed  him,  folded  her  hands 
confidingly  over  his  arm,  and  looked  up  into  his 
face  with  an  air  of  mingled  curiosity  and  tender- 
ness. And  all  the  lime  her  silk  gown  kept  up 
its  vague  rustle  in  his  ear. 

**  Why  do  you  stand  here  with  that  grand 
philosophical  air,  as  if  you  felt  above  all  these 
petty  enjoyments  which  the  rest  of  us  are  indulg- 
ing in  ?  " 

"Ah,  Miss  Ruth,  to  tell  the  truth,  everybody 
is  stupid  here  to-night  except  you." 

"Ah!"  she  exclaimed  with  a  merry  laugh. 
"  Don't  you  believe  that  you  can  impose  upon 

me  in  that  way.  No  doubt  you  told  Miss  H , 

whom  you  took  to  the  table,  the  same  story." 

u  It  was  just  Miss  H 1  was  complaining 

of."  And  he  gave  her  a  grimly  humorous  de- 
scription of  his  experience  at  the  table.  Ruth 
laughed  again,  but  tried  to  excuse  Miss  H . 

"You  can't  expect  everybody  to  be  at  home 
on  the  subject  which  happens  to  interest  you. 
You  ought  to  talk  nonsense,  and  I  can  assure 
you,  you  will  spend  a  charming  evening.  Now 


n8       A  Norsemaris  Pilgrimage. 

do  just  try  it  for  once,"  she  added  coaxingly. 
"  Just  to  please  me.  Come  here ;  I  will  intro- 
duce you  to  a  friend  of  mine  in  the  Con- 
versatory." 

Before  Varberg  knew  it,  he  found  himself  bow- 
ing before  a  yellow-haired  little  body  with  merry 
eyes,  dressed  in  a  low-necked  blue  silk  gown, 
and  with  a  large  gold  locket  which  rose  and  fell 
with  the  motion  of  her  bosom.  Ruth  made 
some  droll  remark  about  the  vast  accomplish- 
ments of  her  friend,  and  said  that  she  was  con- 
vinced that  she  and  Varberg  would  take  kindly 
to  each  other.  And  away  she  went ;  decided  in 
the  twinkle  of  an  eye  a  contest  between  two  gen- 
tlemen each  of  whom  insisted  that  she  had  prom- 
ised the  dance  to  him  ;  and  in  the  next  moment 
Varberg  saw  her  managing  her  trail  in  the  lan- 
cers with  the  dignity  of  a  queen. 

The  little  yellow-haired  lady  proved  more 
intelligent  than  Varberg  had  anticipated  ;  her 
airy  little  remarks  were  like  detached  rose- 
leaves,  so  gently  flushed  and  so  delicate.  He 
could  not  remember  a  word  of  their  conversation 
the  next  morning :  all  he  knew  was  that  they 
had  been  mutually  pleased  with  each  other. 


Brother  Jonathans  Ball.          119 

It  was  an  hour  after  midnight,  and  the 
German  was  about  to  begin.  Varberg  bowed  to 
his  fair  partner,  and  hastily  betook  himself  to  the 
next  room,  where  he  supposed  RutL  .vouFd  be 
waiting  for  him ;  when  he  had  reached  the  door, 
however,  he  was  met  by  Weisskopf,  who  took 
him  aside  into  a  corner,  laid  his  arm  half  pat- 
ronizingly about  his  neck,  and  whispered  in  his 
ear,  "  Miss  Copley  says  she  has  promised  the 
German  to  you,  but  I  am  persuaded  that  she 
would  willingly  dance  it  with  me  if  you  would 
release  her." 

Varberg  colored  to  the  edge  to  his  hair,  and 
involuntarily  clenched  his  fists.  "  Is  Miss  Copley 
aware  that  you  make  me  this  proposition  ?  *' 
he  asked  with  feigned  coolness.  Weisskopf 
shrugged  his  shoulders  and  assumed  a  mysteri- 
ous air. 

"  Explain  yourself,"  demanded  Olaf  aloud. 
"  If  Miss  Copley  knows  anything  about  what  you 
have  said  to  me,  you  may  tell  her  that  she  is 
bound  by  no  obligation  to  me.  If  she  is  ignorant 
of  it,  then  I  can  only  say  that  I  am  astonished  at 
your  boldness,  not  to  say  impudence." 

"  We  shall  have  a  word  with  each  other  before 


I2O       A  Norseman's  Pilgrimage. 

leaving  this  house,"  replied  the  Baron,  shrugged 
his  shoulders  again,  and  went.  Varberg  well 
knew  that  this  was  about  equal  to  a  challenge ; 
but  as  he  had  the  near  pleasure  of  a  dance  with 
Ruth  before  him,  he  forcibly  banished  the  gloomy 
thought  and  troubled  himself,  no  more  about  it. 
He  found  his  dark-haired  queen  sitting  on  a  chair 
near  the  wall,  her  hands  crossed  in  her  lap  and  a 
pensive  expression  in  her  eyes ;  the  moment  she 
saw  him  her  face  brightened,  and  she  arose  and 
took  his  arm. 

"  I  am  glad  you  came,"  said  she.  "  I  don't 
like  to  be  alone." 

He  was  strangely  oppressed  at  first,  but  no 
sooner  had  he  wound  his  arm  about  her  silken 
waist,  and  felt  the  tender  luxury  of  her  touch, 
her  breath,  and  her  voice  as  it  were  airily  encir- 
cling him,  than  his  senses  were  roused  as  from  a 
trance ;  new  and  hitherto  unknown  sensations 
thrilled  through  his  nerves  like  a  tremulous  rap- 
ture, and  his  heart  beat  to  the  ever-hastening 
measure  of  present  and  conscious  bliss.  Ruth 
chatted  gaily  and  with  a  delightful  abandon  which 
was  the  more  charming  for  the  confidence  it  im- 
plied. She  seemed  not  to  have  the  remotest  sus- 


BrotJur  Jonathan's  Ball.          121 

picion  that  she  had  herself  been  the  cause  of  his 
displeasure.  The  fourth  figure  of  the  dance  had 
just  been  finished  and  the  fifth  was  about  to  be- 
gin. A  gentleman,  who  held  in  his  hand  a  wand 
with  half  a  dozen  variously  colored  streamers 
attached  to  it.  bowed  to  Ruth,  and  a  young  lady 
held  out  a  similar  wand  to  Varberg.  He  chose 
an  orange  ribbon,  and  followed  the  train  of 
gentlemen  who  had  already  made  their  choice. 
As  they  reached  the  middle  of  the  floor,  where 
the  ladies  were  waiting,  he  noticed  with  pleasure 
that  he  had  selected  Ruth's  color,  but  in  the 
same  moment  some  one  quickly  pulled  the  rib- 
bon from  his  grasp,  and  presently  he  saw  it  in 
Weisskopf  s  hand.  The  ire  rose  within  him  ;  he 
stepped  up  to  Ruth,  whispered  a  word  in  her  ear, 
and  danced  away  with  her. 

"Blitz  Donnerwetter,"  he  heard  some  one 
exclaiming,  and  Ruth  blushed  slightly;  but  he 
heeded  nothing. 

Toward  morning  the  party  broke  up,  and  as 

he  was  helping  the  ladies  into  the  carriage,  a 

German  servant  lifted  his  hat  to  him  and  delivered 

him  a  letter,  the  seal  of  which  he  instantly  re- 

6 


122        A  Norseman's  Pilgrimage. 

cognized.  He  quietly  put  it  into  his  pocket,  and 
ordered  the  coachman  to  drive. 

"  I  may  seem  very  inquisitive,"  said  Ruth  in 
an  anxious  voice,  as  he  took  his  seat  in  the  car- 
riage ;  "  but  you  will  pardon  me.  What  was  that 
letter  about  ?  " 

"  I  have  not  opened  it  yet,"  answered  Var- 
berg  coolly. 

Dearie  was  so  exhausted  that  she  could  hardly 
keep  her  eyes  open,  and  as  soon  as  they  came 
home  she  retired  to  her  room.  Ruth  lit  the 
lamp,  and  insisted  upon  his  staying  until  he  had 
got  something  to  eat.  And  as  they  were  seated 
together  on  the  sofa,  with  a  bottle  of  ale  and  a 
box  of  crackers  before  them,  she  anxiously  re- 
peated her  question. 

"  Even  at  the  risk  of  appearing  rude,"  she  said 
"  I  must  beg  of  you  to  let  me  know  what  there 
is  in  that  letter.  I  have  my  reasons  for  asking, 
and  I  shall  never  forgive  you  if  you  leave  me  in 
ignorance." 

After  some  further  coaxing,  he  pulled  the 
fatal  note  from  his  pocket  and  gave  it  to  her. 
Her  hand  trembled  as  she  broke  the  seal,  and  in 
a  low,  excited  voice  she  read  as  follows : 


BrotJier  Jonathan's  Ball.         123 

SIR  :  I  demand  satisfaction  for  the  instills  yon  have  heaped 
upon  me  this  evening.  Unless  within  three  days  you  ask  my 
pardon  in  writing,  you  will  meet  me  Friday  afternoon  at  five 

o'clock,  at  Cafe   Fr ,  and   you   will   there   name   me   your 

second,  and  we  shall  further  agree  upon  weapons,  time,  and 
place. 

With  true  respect  (Mit  wahrcr  Hochachtung), 

BARON  MAX  VON  WEISSKOPF. 

The  letter  dropped  into  her  lap  and  she 
stared  at  him  with  a  blank,  frightened  gaze. 
"  You  will  ask  his  pardon,  won't  you  ?  "  she  said 
at  last  beseechingly. 

"  Never,"  answered  he  fiercely. 

"  Not  for  my  sake  ? "  And  she  bent  over 
toward  him  and  seized  his  arm. 

"  Not  for  all  the  world." 

"  But  it  is  merely  a  matter  of  form." 

"  Makes  no  difference." 

She  flung  herself  over  into  the  corner  of  the 
sofa,  covered  her  face  with  her  hands,  and  burst 
into  tears. 

"  Miss  Ruth,"  cried  he,  while  his  emotion 
came  near  choking  him.  "  I  shall  go  mad  if  you 
don't  stop  crying.  What  is  my  life  worth  ?  There 
is  not  the  thing  in  all  the  world  which  I  wouldn't 
do  for  you."  And  as  if  frightened  at  his  own 
words,  he  tore  the  door  open  and  rushed  out. 


124        -^  Norsemaris  Pilgrimage. 

CHAPTER  VII. 

Ruth's  Journal. 

RUTH  had  promised  her  friends  to  keep  a 
journal  during  her  stay  abroad,  and  then 
read  it  to  them  on  her  return.  She  began  it 
much  against  her  will,  but  after  her  acquaintance 
with  Varberg  her  life  seemed  so  much  richer,  and 
even  the  commonest  events  gained  fresh  import  ; 
and  with  every  week  her  journal  swelled  in  bulk. 
We  make  the  following  extracts : 

June  3,  1 8 — .  Until  yesterday  I  had  really 
not  been  aware  that  I  was  in  Europe.  Now  I 
begin  to  understand  what  Europe  means ;  and 
strange  to  say,  I  owe  it  all  to  him — to  my 
mysterious  pursuer  whom  the  beadle  in  St. 
Thomas's  had  to  show  out  of  the  church.  If 
any  other  man  had  done  such  a  thing,  I  think 
I  should  have  been  angry  with  him ;  but  the 
situation  was  really  too  comical,  and  his  grand 
air  and  the  imperturbable  mien  with  which 


RutKs  JovrnaL  125 

he  marched  down  the  aisle  gained  him  my 
heartiest  admiration.  I  knew  I  should  meet 
him  again,  and  stfll,  I  confess,  I  was  frightened 
when  I  did  meet  him.  His  character  is  so 
perfectly  in  keeping  with  the  spirit  of  mediaeval 
times  as  I  have  imagined  it,  that  it  seems  a  pity 
that  the  modernized  dress  should  refuse  to  cany 
out  the  illusion.  And  when  I  came  so  suddenly 
upon  him  in  the  forest  under  the  Venusberg,  I, 
certainty  without  knowing  it,  repaid  him  in  his 
own  coin ;  he  pursued  me  three  months  ago  into 
St.  Thomas's ;  I  unconsciously — or  let  me  say 
deliberately,  only  to  make  the  parallel  perfect — 
followed  his  footsteps  to  this  altar  of  nature,  as  I 
know  he  would  have  expressed  it,  and  disturbed 
his  devotion.  May  he  and  Lady  Venus  forgive 
me.  But  if  I  hadn't  come,  I  have  no  doubt 
he  would  have  shared  the  fete  of  Tannhauser. 

Jttxf  4,  18 — .  This  morning  I  was  waked  up 
by  the  sound  of  music.  I  peeped  through  the 
curtain ;  I  saw  a  whole  orchestra  of  horn  and 
stringed  instruments  stationed  right  under  my 
window.  They  played  Luther's  hymn,  "  Ein' 
feste  Burg  ist  unser  Gott,"  and  it  was  rendered 
with  an  artistic  precision  which  I  should  have 
3* 


126       A  Norseman's  Pilgrimage. 

thought  creditable  in  Thomas's  orchestra.  And 
these  are  but  strolling  street  musicians !  Ah 
•wie  wunderschon  !  It  is  Germany  all  over.  Mr. 
Varberg  did  not  call  to-day,  and  I  confess  that  I 
feel  just  a  little  bit  disappointed. 

June  7,  1 8 — .  He  doesn't  seem  to  be  in  a 
hurry  about  renewing  the  acquaintance.  I  shall 
treat  him  very  stiffly  when  he  does  come.  No, 
I  won't  either,  for  then  I  should  betray  that  I 
have  been  thinking  of  him,  and  I  wouldn't  have 
him  know  that  for  anything. 

June  9,  1 8 — .  He  did  call  to-day,  and  we 
had  a  delightful  walk  through  Rosenthal.  I  like 
him  more,  the  more  I  see  of  him.  There  is  a 
peculiar  warmth  and  intensity  in  all  that  he  says  ; 
his  answers  and  even  his  most  trifling  remarks 
frequently  startle  me,  and  still  they  seem  so 
natural  that  I  wonder  I  didn't  think  of  saying 
the  very  same  thing  myself. 

Jnne  11,  18 — .  We  went  to  church  together 
this  morning.  The  minister  laid  down  the  law 
heavily,  and  described  with  a  charming  minute- 
ness the  tortures  of  the  damned  in  hell.  I  feel 
confident  that  such  a  sermon  could  never  have 
been  preached  in  Boston — at  least  not  in  this 


RutKs  Journal.  127 

century.  Mr.  Varberg  was  all  devotion,  and  sat 
there  as  sober  and  as  imperturbable  as  a  rock.  I 
was  rather  amused  at  the  zeal  of  the  old  parson ; 
and  when  he  spoke  about  the  seething  tar,  I 
couldn't  help  smiling ;  and  still  I  was  not  realty 
so  irreverent  as  I  seemed.  As  we  left  the  church 
I  asked  Mr.  Varberg  if  he  believed  in  hefl.  He 
answered  that  he  did,  although  hardly  in  the 
sense  which  this  old  preacher  attached  to  it.  I 
asked  him  in  what  sense  then.  Now  I  only 
wish  I  could  repeat  his  answer  just  as  he  gave 
it,  but  I  am  afraid  I  can't.  The  meaning,  how- 
ever, was  that  God  was  all  love,  and  would  not 
condemn  any  man  to  eternal  punishment.  The 
man's  life  here  developed  a  spiritual  organism 
within  him,  which,  if  he  had  been  wicked,  would 
find  its  proper  sphere  beyond  the  grave  in  the 
society  of  the  wicked,  or  what  we  call  helL 
Heaven  would  be  wretchedness  to  him,  and 
he  would  voluntarily  seek  the  fellowship  of 
those  who  shared  his  tastes  and  sympathies. 
Thus  hell,  although  by  no  means  happy,  would 
afford,  relatively  speaking,  the  greatest  happiness 
of  which  such  men  were  capable.  "  Then,"  I 
answered  thoughtlessly  (and  I  am  truly  shocked 


128        A  Norseman's  Pilgrimage. 

at  the  irreverence  of  the  remark),  "  I  don't  see 
why  the  devils  in  hell  should  not  be  quite  as 
comfortable  as  the  angels  in  heaven." 

He  looked  at  me  half  reproachfully,  gave  a 
brief  polite  answer,  and  changed  the  subject. 

Now  I  should  like  to  know  why  I  always 
perforce  must  behave  irreverently,  not  to  say 
frivolously,  in  Mr.  Varberg's  presence.  He  evi- 
dently believes  that  there  is  not  the  thing  in 
heaven  or  on  earth  which  I  have  any  respect  for. 
And  the  fact  that  he  believes  this  to  be  my  char- 
acter, in  some  mysterious  way  compels  me  to 
enter  into  the  role  which  he  kindly  chooses  to 
assign  to  me.  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  it  was  sheer 
delicacy  on  my  part,  a  fear  of  hurting  his  feel- 
ings by  convincing  him  that  he  has  been  mistaken 
in  his  opinion  of  me. 

June  13,  1 8 — .  We  walked  up  through  the 
fields  along  the  river  this  afternoon,  and  there  I 
saw  for  the  first  time  in  my  life  a  stork.  He  stood 
pensively  on  one  leg,  just  as  in  Hans  Christian 
Andersen's  stories.  Mr.  Varberg  disapproved  of 
the  man  who  rode  into  town  in  a  cart  drawn  by 
his  wife  and  a  big  black  dog.  He  sat  coolly 
smoking  on  a  sack  of  hay.  I  saw  the  color 


RutJis  Journal.  129 

mounting  to  V.'s  cheeks,  and  his  behavior  was 
so  magnificent — I  can  find  no  other  word  for  it — 
that  I  could  not  but  feel  grateful  to  him  with  all 
my  heart.  In  his  usual  quiet  manner  he  went 
to  a  tree,  cut  a  huge  whip,  stripped  off  the 
leaves,  and  with  the  politest  bow  presented  it 
to  the  man  in  the  cart.  The  poor  Teuton 
stared  at  him  in  stupid  wonder,  and  his  face  was 
so  pitiful  to  behold  that  I  almost  felt  inclined 
to  take  his  part.  He  tumbled  out  of  his  cart 
with  a  suddenness  as  if  the  whip  had  been 
applied  to  his  own  back,  and  walked  off  mur- 
muring something  between  his  teeth.  Now  who 
would  have  thought  Mr.  V.  capable  of  such 
a  joke?  What  especially  amused  me  was  the 
supreme  coolness  and  dignity  which  he  pre- 
served during  the  whole  performance.  If  I  do 
or  say  anything  ludicrous  in  his  presence,  I  am 
always  conscious  of  a  vague  sense  of  guilt ;  I 
know  that  he  disapproves  of  me.  Nevertheless 
it  was  very  becoming  to  him. 

June  1 6,  1 8 — .  O,  if  I  only  knew  how  I 
appear  in  his  eyes;  If  I  could  only  imagine 
what  he  thinks  of  me  !  I  feel  at  times  as  if  that 
cairn  blue  eye  of.his  was  reading  the  most  secret 


130       A  Norsemaris  Pilgrimage. 

thoughts  of  my  heart.  I  often  think  of  what  he 
said  about  authors.  They  have  no  business  to 
have  personal  relations  with  their  fellow  mortals  ; 
they  are  not  bound  by  the  same  obligations  as 
other  men.  This  was  at  least  what  I  gathered 
from  what  he  said  to  me  that  afternoon  in 
Rosenthal.  Now  if  it  could  be  possible  that 
it  was  merely  this  sort  of  literary  interest  he 
takes  in  me,  I  should  at  all  events  have  to 
admit  that  he  gave  me  fair  warning.  Oh,  no, 
it  can  never  be  possible ;  it  would  be  unwor- 
thy of  him ;  he  is  incapable  of  doing  anything 
so  ungenerous.  To  steal  into  a  young  girl's 
heart  only  to  decipher  it,  and  coolly  take  his 
notes,  while  she  suspected  nothing !  What  am 
I  saying  ?  What  has  Mr.  Varberg  got  to  do  with 
my  heart?  What  does  it  matter  to  me  whether 
he  has  a  favorable  or  an  unfavorable  opinion  of 
me?  He  is  going  away  in  three  weeks,  and  I 
shall  probably  never  see  him  again. 

June  20,  1 8 — .  I  have  often  said  to  myself 
that  it  is  a  matter  of  indifference  to  me  what  he 
thinks  of  me.  I  wish  it  was ;  but  it  isn't.  I 
blame  myself  daily  for  appearing  to  him  as  it 
were  in  a  false  disguise.  I  am  afraid  of  betray- 


RutKs  Journal.  131 

ing  what  I  think  and  feel,  and  therefore,  against 
my  will,  I  play  the  sceptic,  and  the  consequence 
is  that  he  believes  me  heartless  and  frivolous. 
And  still  there  is  a  strange  fascination  about  an 
assumed  role.  I  think  girls  almost  always  have 
an  instinct  to  conceal  their  real  nature,  and  if 
for  no  other  reason,  then  for  the  mere  excitement 
of  it.  I  know  it  is  deceitful  and  wrong,  but  I 
can't  help  it. 

June  23,  1 8 — .  I  got  angry  with  Mr.  Var- 
berg  to-day,  although  I  know  it  was  very  foolish 
of  me.  He  said  that  what  he  especially  liked 
about  America  was  that  there  these  delightful 
intellectual  friendships  could  exist  between  men 
and  women  without  leading  necessarily  to  a  more 
intimate  relation.  Here  in  Europe  society 
frowned  upon  them,  and  no  European  woman 
was  capable  of  appreciating  such  a  mere  intel- 
lectual devotion.  I  disliked  the  sentiment  very 
much,  and  I  came  very  near  saying  so ;  but  I 
conquered  myself  and  stammered  a  faint  "  Yes," 
and  felt  in  my  heart  a  detestable  hypocrite. 
Why  does  he  say  such  things  to  me  ?  I  wonder. 

jfunf  26,  1 8 — .  Turning  over  the  leaves  of 
my  journal,  I  find  that  it  is  all  full  of  Mr.  Var- 


132        A  Norseman 's  Pilgrimage. 

berg.  I  didn't  know  that  I  had  written  so  much 
about  him.  How  can  I  read  this  to  my  friends 
it  Boston  when  I  return  home  ?  When  they  say 
to  me,  "  Well,  Ruth,  read  to  us  what  you  have 
seen  in  Europe,"  how  mortifying  to  me,  if  I  have 
to  sit  down  and  read  to  them  about  a  young 
man  by  the  name  of  Olaf  Varberg.  I  like  the 
name  Olaf,  although  I  don't  know  if  I  pronounce 
it  right.  It  is  so  quaint. 

June  27,  1 8 — .  I  feel  so  strangely  to  day.  I 
don't  know  what  is  the  matter  with  me.  Dearie 
tried  to  ridicule  him,  and  said  he  looked  as  sol- 
emn as  a  deacon ;  then  she  insisted  that  he 
curled  his  hair  and  his  moustache,  and  I  am 
sure  there  isn't  a  word  of  truth  in  it.  I-  told 
Dearie  so  too,  but  Dearie  was  in  a  contrary 
mood,  and  aggravated  me  beyond  endurance, 
and  somehow  or  other  I  couldn't  manage  her  as 
well  as  usual.  O  dear!  I  wish  he  wouldn't 
come  here  any  more.  I  can't  bear  to  be  teased 
about  him ;  but  I  can't  bear  to  have  him  stay 
away  either. 


Catastropfic.  133 


CHAPTER  VIII. 
The  Catastrophe. 

T  T  was  the  day  after  the  ball.  Ruth  was  sit- 
•*•  ting  at  the  window  in  the  parlor,  pensively 
resting  her  chin  upon  her  folded  hands.  Her 
cheeks  were  very  pale,  and  her  long,  dark  lashes 
hid  the  anxious  glance  of  the  eyes. 

"  It  was  very  foolish  in  me  to  cry  last  night," 
she  thought,  "  and  if  he  comes  to-day,  I  shall  do 
my  best  to  bewilder  him.  What  could  he  think 
of  me?" 

Nevertheless  her  heart  was  heavy,  although 
she  was  loath  to  admit  it,  even  to  herself;  she 
was  rather  provoked  at  herself  for  taking  such  a 
lively  interest  in  his  doings.  All  the  night  the 
thought  of  Varberg  had  haunted  her  ;  she  had 
seen  him  lying  half  dead  on  the  green  grass,  the 
light  quenched  in  his  eye,  the  paleness  of  death 
upon  his  cheeks  and  his  parted  lips,  and  the  gore 
darkening  his  blonde  locks.  And  she  imagined 


134       ^  Norsemaris  Pilgrimage. 

herself  bending  down  over  him,  folding  his  hands 
upon  his  breast,  and  kissing  his  cold  forehead, 
.  while  her  tears  fell  hot  and  fast  upon  his  face. 
Now,  if  Varberg  had  actually  been  dead,  she  might 
have  done  all  this ;  at  all  events,  she  would  sin- 
cerely have  mourned  him  ;  but  unhappily  he  was 
yet  alive,  and  she  was  angry  with  him.  It  seemed 
especially  hard  to  forgive  him  that  he  had  been 
witness  to  that  involuntary  outburst  of  emotion 
on  her  part — nay,  that  he  had,  although  through 
no  fault  of  his  own,  been  the  occasion  of  it. 

"  If  he  chooses  to  kill  himself,  or  have  some- 
body else  kill  him,  what  does  that  matter  to 
me  ? "  she  asked  herself  repeatedly,  and  she 
came  to  the  cheerful  conclusion  that  Varberg's 
life  or  death  concerned  her  no  more  than  the 
man  in  the  moon. 

Then  there  was  a  knock  at  the  door,  and  a 
quick  flush  shot  over  Ruth's  cheeks.  Varberg 
entered  ;  she  advanced  to  the  middle  of  the  floor 
and  shook  hands  with  him.  He  seemed  more 
than  usually  grave  and  reserved ;  and  she  no- 
ticed the  newness  of  all  he  had  on,  even  to  the 
silk  hat  and  the  gloves ;  he  impressed  her  as  a 
man  who  was  going  to  his  own  funeral.  Vari- 


The  Catastrophe.  155 

ous  indifferent  topics  of  conversation  were  taken 
up  and  again  dropped.  The  words  froze  as  they 
fefl  from  the  lips,  and  each  seemed  to  be  pursuing 
his  own  track  of  thought  unaided  and  unaccom- 
panied by  the  other. 

"  You  are  so  strange  to-day,  Mr.  Varberg," 
said  Ruth  at  last. 

"  I  confess  I  feel  a  little  oppressed ;  I  came 
here  to  you  to  be  cheered." 

"How  shall  I  cheer  you  then?  What  do 
you  propose  to  do  ?  " 

"  Anything  you  like." 

"Well,  then  let  us  abuse  our  friends,"  said 
she  with  a  kind  of  joyous  vehemence.  "  I  know 
of  nothing  that  is  more  apt  to  cheer  me." 

"  I  don't  know  that  we  have  any  friends  in 
common,"  replied  Varberg  with  a  feint  smile. 
"  And  for  each  to  abuse  his  own,  when  his  good 
points  would  hardly  be  appreciated  by  the  other, 
would  be  very  unprofitable  work." 

"Certainly  we  have  friends  in  common; 
there  is,  for  instance,  Weisskopf,  the  Baron." 

"Well,  what  "do  you  think  of  him?  "  And 
the  gloom  again  gathered  on  Varberg's  brow. 

"Perhaps  'you  don't  know  that  he  called 


136       A.  Norsemaris  Pilgrimage. 

here  this  morning  and  asked  for  you.  He  had 
been  at  your  rooms,  but  did  not  find  you.  I  in- 
vited him  in,  and  like  all  Germans  he  smokes 
detestable  tobacco.  I  have  been  airing  the  room 
for  several  hours  since  he  left.  Indeed,  he  sat 
puffing  away  like  a  young  steam-engine." 

"  But  that  hardly  expresses  your  opinion  of 
him.  If  you  wish  to  cultivate  his  acquaintance, 
you  have  to  accept  him  as  a  Teuton,  or  not  at  all." 

"  Mr.  Varberg,"  cried  Ruth  laughing,  "  I 
haven't  accepted  him  in  any  sense  whatever. 
He  is  to  me  simply  a  phenomenon ;  and  as  such 
I  enjoy  him,  and  dismiss  him  when  I  find  him  no 
more  entertaining." 

"  Is  that  the  way  you  do  with  all  your 
friends  ?  " 

"  Certainly.  But  some  of  my  friends  I  hope 
will  continue  to  entertain  me  as  long  as  I  live. 
You  can't  blame  me  for  speaking  in  this  way. 
You  have  taught  it  me  yourself.  To  you,  if  I 
may  trust  your  own  words,  men  are  merely  psy- 
chological phenomena,  and  I  with  the  rest.  Now 
I  am  beginning  to  profit  by  your  teachings." 

Varberg  made  no  answer ;  but  his  eye  rested 
half  reproachfully  on  Ruth,  and  he  silently  cursed 


The  CatastropJie.  137 

the  fate  that  had  made  her  so  fair.  There  was  a 
feverish  uneasiness  in  her  gayety  that  pained 
and  distressed  him.  "What  can  have  wrought 
this  change  in  her  ?  "  he  questioned  himself ;  and 
then  added  with  a  sigh,  "  Femina  semper  muta- 
bile  et  varium"  It  was  a  comforting  thought 
that  it  was  merely  the  experience  of  the  whole 
world  which  was  repeating  itself  in  him.  Ruth 
in  the  meanwhile,  piqued  at  his  silence,  went  on 
in  the  same  strain. 

"  Weisskopf,"  she  said,  "  is  an  exceedingly 
entertaining  phenomenon.  But  there  is  some- 
thing of  the  adventurer  about  him,  which,  how- 
ever, makes  him  no  less  interesting  as  a  phenome- 
non. I  regret  to  say  that  I  always  distrust  him  ; 
and  especially  when  he  talks  about  his  own  gal- 
lant deeds,  I  am  aware  that  he  does  not  always 
expect  to  be  pinned  down  to  a  literal  inter- 
pretation. Then  he  has  a  way  of  paying  one  the 
most  ridiculous  compliments  with  a  Jiauteur  and 
a  magnificence  which  border  on  the  sublime. 
My  own  opinions,  if  I  have  the  impudence  to 
have  any,  he  treats  with  a  gentle  forbearance 
which  would  irritate  me  beyond  endurance,  if  I 
didn't  find  the  situation  novel  enough  to  be  in- 


138        A  Norseman^  Pilgrimage. 

teresting.  My  serious  remarks  he  listens  to  with 
an  indulgent  smile,  and  then  leaves  them  unan- 
swered or  dismisses  them  with  a  jest,  as  if  they 
were  too  insignificant  to  merit  his  attention. 
And  the  end  of  it  invariably  is  that  I  am  some- 
how or  other  compelled  to  assume  the  role  which 
he  pleases  to  give  me,  and  I  feel  like  an  irrespon- 
sible child,  and  even  talk  and  act  like  one.  But 
Mr.  Varberg,  you  are  not  listening  to  me,"  she 
cried,  after  a  moment's  pause.  "Whither  are 
your  thoughts  wandering?  Is  it  the  fair-haired 
maidens  of  Norway  you  are  dreaming  about  ?  " 

"  You  do  me  injustice,  Miss  Copley,"  an- 
swered he,  rising  from  the  sofa.  "  But  I  have 
no  doubt  the  fresh  air  would  do  us  both  good, 
after  the  exertions  of  yesterday.  Would  you 
not  favor  me  with  your  company?" 

"  Certainly,"  she  answered,  and  walked  to- 
ward the  door.  "  In  the  meanwhile,  while  I 
put  on  my  hat,  you  may  amuse  yourself  with 
the  '  Leipziger  Tageblatt.'  Here  it  is.  There 
is  a  picture  in  it  of  a  Russian  Internationalist, 
who  has  run  away  from  St.  Petersburg  with  a 
large  amount  of  money,  and  the  description  as 
well  as  the  picture,  as  my  aunt  remarked  this 


The  Catastrophe.  139 

morning,  bears  a  strong  resemblance  to  you.  So 
you  bad  better  be  on  your  guard,  or  you  might 
be  sent  to  Siberia." 

And  she  laughed  a  loud,  unnatural  laugh,  and 
ran  out  of  the  room.  He  took  up  the  paper, 
and  found  there  a  portrait  which  really  did  not 
look  unlike  him.  What  especially  startled  him 
was  the  notice  that  the  criminal  had  a  slight  scar 
over  his  right  eye,  which  was  another  point  of  re- 
semblance. Ruth  returned.  He  laid  the  paper 
away,  and  thought  no  more  of  it.  On  the  stair- 
case they  met  Mrs.  Elder  and  Dearie,  who  had 
been  out  shopping ;  they  stopped  for  a  moment, 
exchanged  the  usual  greetings,  and  parted. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon,  and  the  broad 
gravel  paths  of  Rosenthal  were  almost  empty. 
Here  and  there  a  couple  of  students  lay  idly 
smoking  on  the  grass,  and  in  some  thick-leafed 
copse  a  loose -coated  journeyman  lingered  in 
amorous  luxury  with  the  mistress  of  his  heart. 
The  air  was  rich  and  warm,  and  a  luminous, 
misty  gauze  spread  a  faint  glamour  through  the 
atmosphere.  Swarms  of  gnats  hovered  in  an 
airy  dance  under  the  sunny  linden  crowns,  and 
the  murmurous  music  of  their  wings  impercepti- 


140       A.  Norsemaris  Pilgrimage. 

bly  blended  with  the  summer  stillness;  and  now 
and  then  a  large  black  insect  buzzed  with 
"  heedless  hum  "  across  the  path,  and  lost  itself 
in  the  gloom  of  a  neighboring  thicket.  It  was 
difficult  to  think  of  the  new  world,  with  its  busy 
life  and  its  noisy  bustle,  on  a  day  like  this  ;  indeed, 
it  seemed  hard  to  persuade  one's  self  that  Wall 
Street  and  Broadway  were  not  all  a  dream,  a 
grotesque  invention  of  a  capricious  fancy. 
These  were  at  least  Varberg's  reflections,  and 
even  Ruth's  mind  was  gently  attuned  ;  she 
forgot  the  resentment  she  had  lately  harbored 
against  her  friend,  and  began  to  talk  in  her  old 
easy,  confidential  way. 

"  Now,  Mr.  Varberg,"  said  she,  "  you  know 
me  too  well  to  be  angry  with  me,  if  I  return 
once  more  to  this  fatal  subject.  But  tell  me 
truly  and  honestly  whether  you  think  that  a 
man's  honor  can  be  saved  by  his  having  his  ear 
or  his  nose  cut  off,  or  his  face  disfigured  by  an 
unsightly  scar  ?  " 

"An  honest  question  deserves  an  honest 
answer,'1  replied  he.  "  In  the  abstract,  I  disap- 
prove of  duelling  as  decidedly  as  you  do.  But 
a  time-honored  custom,  which  has  been  handed 


The  Catastrophe.  141 

down  to  us  by  our  forefathers,  we  cannot  afford 
to  ignore." 

"Aha,"  ejaculated  she;  "then  it  is  your 
romantic  notions  of  chivalry  that  interfere  with 
your  better  judgment !  And  truly,  if  it  were  for 
the  honor  of  some  beloved  maiden  that  you 
drew  your  sword,  I  should  myself  find  some 
excuse  for  it.  But,  after  all,  losing  your  life  for 
your  lady  love,  or  rescuing  her  from  death  and 
then  marrying  her,  is  a  very  old-fashioned  sort 
of  thing,  and  as  a  theme  of  fiction  it  has  been  so 
well  worn  out  by  our  novelists  and  romancers 
that  at  last  nobody  really  believes  in  it.  If  I 
should  want  to  sacrifice  my  life,  I  should  invent 
some  other  way  which  nobody  had  ever  tried 
before." 

"  And  how  do  you  know  that  it  is  not  for 
the  sake  of  some  beloved  maiden  that  I  propose 
to  fight  ?  " 

She  turned  her  head  abruptly,  and  a  deep 
blush  mounted  to  her  cheeks. 

"  If  you  were  a  German,"  she  began,  with 
her  face  still  averted,  "  I  should  not  attempt  to 
contradict  you.  But  you  are  an  American 


142        ^  Norseman's  Pilgrimage. 

citizen,  and  are  not  bound  to  conform  to  the 
customs  of  the  Germans." 

"  True  ;  but  when  you  are  in  Rome  you  do 
as  the  Romans  do." 

The  evening  wore  on,  and  without  heeding 
whither  their  steps  carried  them,  they  hastened 
forward.  The  last  red  glow  of  the  sunset  lay 
like  a  band  of  flame  along  the  horizon,  and  the 
moon,  as  if  by  surprise,  burst  forth  full  and  clear 
from  behind  its  vapory  citadel ;  it  spread  its 
lustre  over  the  dim  blue  sky,  and  the  thin 
clouds  were  fringed  with  a  pale,  ghostly  gold. 
Now  and  then  some  lonely  quail  raised  its  shrill 
cry  from  the  distant  meadows,  the  crickets 
chirped  drowsily  in  the  grass,  and  a  warm  sum- 
mer wind  breathed  with  a  faint  rushing  through 
the  crowns  of  the  beeches  and  linden  trees. 

"I  wonder  where  we  are?"  said  Ruth,  lay- 
ing her  hand  upon  his  arm.  "  It  seems  all  so 
strange  and  unfamiliar." 

"  I  don't  think  I  have  ever  been  here  before," 
answered  Varberg,  while  he  gently  drew  her  arm 
through  his.  "  But  nevertheless  this  whole  land- 
scape appears  to  me  so  remotely  familiar,  that  I 
cannot  but  think  that  I  must  have  seen  it  some- 


The  Catastrophe.  143 

where,  perhaps  in  a  dream  or  in  a  vision.  And 
if  I  had  seen  you  here  for  the  first  time,  I  should 
have  recognized  you  at  once,  for  you  are  as  much 
a  part  of  the  landscape  as  the  linden  trees  and 
the  chirp  of  the  crickets." 

"  Ah,  you  flatter  me,''  she  replied  musingly, 
"  although,"  she  added  with  a  smile,  "  the  com- 
parison with  the  crickets  ought  not  to  make  me 
vain.  But  if  you  will  listen  to  my  chirp,  I 
think  it  is  high  time  that  we  think  of  finding 
our  way  home." 

Ruth  and  Varberg  had  both  a  talent  for 
losing  their  way.  When  in  each  other's  com- 
pany they  forgot  everything  except  their  own 
happiness.  Now  they  wandered  about  through 
the  broad  moonlit  avenues,  in  the  vague  hope  of 
sometime  reaching  the  city.  The  vast  calm  of 
the  night,  the  placid  massiveness  of  the  shadows 
and  the  fragile  woof  of  cloud,  which  spread  like 
a  fairy  frostwork  over  the  sky,  chimed  together 
into  a  world-wide,  silent  chant,  a  voiceless  mel- 
ody of  wonder.  And  although  he  felt  the  still- 
ness sinking  into  his  heart  and  diffusing  its 
blessed  sense  of  peace  through  his  whole  being, 
he  was  still  conscious  of  one  wakeful,  dimly- 


144       A  Norseman's  Pilgrimage. 

defined  desire,  which  came  and  went,  and  ever 
evaded  the  grasp  of  his  thought.  It  was  as  if 
he  expected  a  miracle  to  be  wrought  somehow, 
without  his  own  agency;  and  whenever  he 
looked  up  into  Ruth's  eyes,  and  saw  her  fair 
young  face  smitten  into  marble  by  the  rays  of 
the  moon,  he  believed  that  the  miracle  was  near, 
and  the  blood  throbbed  more  swiftly  'through 
his  pulses.  At  length  they  saw  the  roofs  of  the 
city  shimmering  between  the  leaves,  and  the 
fatal  confession  hovered  upon  his  lips ;  but  just 
at  that  moment  they  heard  harsh  laughter  close 
by,  and  caught  sight  of  two  men,  one  of  whom 
stood  leaning  against  the  trunk  of  a  tree,  while 
the  other  lay  outstretched  upon  the  grass.  The 
more  able-bodied  of  the  two  helped  his  compan- 
ion to  his  feet,  and  they  both  reeled  out  into  the 
road. 

"  Come,  let  us  go  back  and  take  another 
way,"  said  Ruth,  drawing  her  veil  down  over 
her  face. 

"You  are  not  afraid  of  two  miserable  drunk- 
ards, I  hope  ?  "  answered  Varberg,  and  walked  on. 

The  men  steered  straight  against  them. 

"  Ah,  mein    Liebchen,"   said   the   one,  and 


The  Catastrophe.  145 

Varberg  in  an  instant  recognized  Weisskopfs 
voice,  although  it  was  unnaturally  hoarse  and 
drowsy.  "Don't  make  yourself  so  precious;" 
and  he  stretched  out  his  arm  to  pull  away  the 
veil  from  Ruth's  face. 

"  Step  aside,"  cried  Varberg,  "  or  111  strike 
you  down  on  the  spot." 

tt  Strike  me  down  on  the  spot— ah  ?  "  droned 
the  Baron  in  the  same  drunken  tone.  "  You  are 
in  a  fighting  mood,  are  you?  " 

Ruth  stood  pale  and  erect,  but  she  trembled 
over  her  whole  body.  Weisskopf  made  another 
stretch  toward  her,  but  before  he  had  time  to 
reach  her  Varberg  sprang  forward,  seized  him  by 
the  throat,  threw  him  down  on  the  ground,  and 
put  his  knees  on  his  chest. 

"  Now,  you  impudent  wretch,"  said  he  in  a 
hoarse  whisper,  **  if  you  dare  stir,  I  shall  strike 
you  dead." 

The  Baron's  companion  in  the  meanwhile 
stood  howling  "  Police,"  at  the  top  of  his  voice, 
and  while  the  victim  still  lay  groaning  in  the  pow- 
erful grip  of  his  assailant's  fist,  Varberg  felt  him- 
self suddenly  seized  by  the  shoulders  and  vio- 
lently flung  over  to  the  other  side  of  the  road. 
7 


146        A  Norsemaris  Pilgrimage. 

He  had  hardly  time  to  recover  from  his  surprise, 
when  he  was  again  grabbed  by  the  neck,  and 
found  himself  struggling  in  the  arms  of  two 
burly  Teutons  in  policemen's  uniforms.  Weiss- 
kopf,  who  had  been  considerably  sobered  by  the 
sudden  encounter,  rose  to  his  feet,  and  explained 
to  the  policemen  that  he  had  been  unexpectedly 
assaulted,  and  he  was  just  recounting  the  details 
of  the  affair  when  Ruth  stepped  close  up  to  him, 
lifted  her  veil,  and  gazed  him  in  the  eye.  He 
tumbled  backward,  as  if  hit  by  an  invisible 
hand,  and  staggered  away  between  the  trees ; 
his  companion  followed.  Varberg  vainly  at- 
tempted to  conciliate  the  officers  of  the  law; 
and  Ruth,  her  voice  choked  with  emotion, 
prayed  them  to  let  him  depart  in  peace.  But 
the  Teutons,  in  their  official  zeal,  were  deaf  to 
all  remonstrances,  and  hustled  their  victim  about 
as  if  he  had  been  the  most  atrocious  criminal  in 
the  world. 

"  Yes,  yes,  we  know  all  about  it,"  roared  one 
of  them.  "  We  have  long  been  on  the  track  of 
you  ;  and  we  knew  we  should  find  you  at  last. 
You  will  have  a  chance  of  explaining  all  that 
to-morrow." 


The  Catastrophe.  147 

"  But  I  protest.     I  am  an  American  citizen." 

"  You  can  protest  to-morrow." 

"Then  allow  me  at  least,"  said  Varberg 
calmly, "  to  procure  a  carriage  for  this  lady.  She 
has,  at  all  events,  nothing  to  do  with  this. 
Moreover,  you  need  not  tear  me  to  pieces.  I 
shall  follow  you  of  my  own  accord." 

After  a  brief  consultation  they  decided  to 
grant  this  request,  and  without  more  ado  they 
conducted  Ruth  down  to  the  corner  of  Frank- 
furter Strasse,  where  a  carriage  was  found. 

"  My  dear  Miss  Ruth,"  said  Varberg,  as  they 
were  about  to  part,  "  don't  let  this  disturb  you. 
To-morrow  it  will  all  be  cleared  up,  and  I  shall 
come  at  once  to  see  you." 

"  Ah,  Mr.  Varberg,"  answered  she,  while  a 
tear  glittered  in  her  eye,  "  all  these  indignities 
you  have  to  suffer  on  my  account.  O  dear, 
what  shall  I  do?" 

The  policemen  slammed  the  door  to,  and 
hurried  him  off.  An  hour  later  he  sat  on  a  hard 
wooden  bench,  in  a  narrow  prison  cell,  and  phi- 
losophized on  the  vanity  of  human  happiness. 
A  damp,  musty  smell  of  masonry  pervaded  the 
air,  and  in  spite  of  the  warmth  he  shivered. 


148       A  Norscmarfs  Pilgrimage. 

The  moonlight  streamed  in  through  the  small 
iron-barred  window,  high  up  on  the  wall,  and  a 
narrow  strip  of  pale  blue  sky,  dimmed  by  the 
dingy  glass,  gazed  in  upon  him,  and  mocked 
him  with  its  vague  suggestion  of  freedom.  A 
month  earlier,  when  visiting  Wartburg,  he  had 
imagined  himself  in  the  romantic  capacity  of  a 
prisoner ;  now  the  dreary  reality  stared  him  in 
face,  and  the  romance  had  utterly  vanished. 
The  jailer  brought  him  a  quarter  section  of  a 
black  bread  and  a  jug  of  water,  but  he  refused  to 
touch  either.  He  heard  the  rattling  of  chains 
somewhere  at  the  other  end  of  the  corridor;  the 
door  of  his  cell  was  locked  and  barred  on  the 
outside,  and  the  retiring  steps  of  the  jailer 
re-echoed  with  an  uncomfortable  regularity  and 
sharpness  under  the  stone  vaults. 

It  was  after  midnight  when  at  last  he  threw 
himself  down  on  his  straw  mattress,  and  toward 
morning  he  fell  asleep.  He  dreamed  that  he  was 
at  Wartburg,  and  that  he  was  sitting  under  a 
huge  poplar  at  the  foot  of  the  Venusberg.  The 
leaves  of  the  poplar  clanked  with  strange  me- 
tallic voices,  which  fell  upon  his  ear  like  the 
subdued  tinkling  of  a  vast  chorus  of  infinitely 


The  Catastrophe.  149 

small  bells.  Hard  by  stood  a  couple  of  fragrant, 
maidenly  birches,  which  breathed  forth  an  anx- 
ious hush,  and  rustled  faintly  and  soothingly, 
but  under  the  birch  copse  grew  clusters  of 
ghostly  flowers,  which,  eagerly  raised  their  fragile 
cups  of  crimson,  ruby,  and  amethyst  toward 
the  silent  moon,  and  gathered  its  rays,  until 
they  were  filled  to  the  brim;  and  then  they 
bent  their  heads  droopingly  to  the  earth,  and 
Vanished  like  a  spark  that  is  quenched.  All 
of  a  sudden,  while  Varberg  sat  gazing  upon 
this  wondrous  spectacle,  the  hill  was  rent  in 
twain,  and  there  sat  Lady  Venus  on  her  gold- 
en throne,  and  beckoned  to  him  with  a  joy- 
ous smile  on  her  countenance.  A  delicious 
shudder  ran  through  his  frame ;  he  arose,  and 
stood  for  a  moment  wavering.  Lady  Venus 
arose,  too,  and  descended  from  her  throne,  and 
now  he  saw  that  it  was  Ruth.  He  rushed  for- 
ward to  throw  himself  at  her  feet,  but  out  of 
the  ground  there  came  an  old  man  with  a  gray 
moustache,  and  that  was  the  faithful  Eckart, 
but  it  was  also  Olafs  own  grandfather,  whom  he 
had  left  behind  him  in  Norway. 


150       A  Norseman's  Pilgrimage. 

"  Flee,  youth,  flee,"  cried  the  old  man  ;  "  in 
her  embrace  lurk  death  and  eternal  damnation." 

Varberg  turned  to  fly;  but  first  he  would 
look  once  more  upon  that  young  joyous  face  ; 
and  the  longer  he  looked  the  fairer  she  grew, 
and  the  harder  it  became  to  part  from  her. 

"Death  and  damnation,"  cried  the  faithful 
Eckart,  and  Olaf  summoned  all  his  strength  and 
tore  himself  away  ;  but  a  net  of  fine  invisible 
threads  seemed  to  wind  itself  about  his  arms 
and  feet,  until  at  length  he  could  not  advance  an 
inch  further.  Turning  once  more,  he  saw  that 
her  hair  had  grown  to  an  immense  length,  and 
encompassed  the  woods  far  and  near. 

"  Flee  now,  if  thou  canst,"  said  she  with  the 
same  joyous  smile,  and  the  voice  was  Ruth's. 
He  rushed  back,  thrust  down  his  old  grand- 
father, and  in  an  ineffable  rapture  clasped  her 
tightly  to  his  breast.  The  hill  closed  behind 
him,  and  in  the  same  moment  he  awoke.  There 
were  the  bare  stone  walls,  the  iron-barred  win- 
dow, and  a  belated  star  which  still  glimmered 
feebly  on  the  sky.  He  was  indeed  a  prisoner, 
but  in  the  Leipsic  jail,  not  in  the  Venusberg. 


To  the  Rescue.  151 


CHAPTER  IX. 
To  the  Rescue. 

A  T  ten  o'clock  the  next  morning  Varberg  was 
•***  summoned  to  appear  before  the  police 
court.  The  judge,  a  moon-faced,  bald-headed 
man  of  a  very  imposing  front,  sat  behind  the 
bar,  and  the  Baron  von  Weisskopf,  the  traces  of 
yesterday's  carousal  still  visible  on  his  counte- 
nance, was  on  the  witness  stand.  The  usual 
questions  about  name,  position,  etc.,  were 
promptly  answered.  "  You  say  that  this  gentle- 
man attacked  you  in  Rosenthal,"  said  the  judge 
to  Weisskopf. 

"  I  do,  your  honor,"  replied  the  latter,  while 
he  reddened  to  the  edge  of  his  hair,  and  was 
evidently  very  much  ashamed  of  himself. 

"  With  an  intent  to  rob  you  ?  " 

"  I  think  not,  your  honor ;  I  should  rather 
say  that  he  was  slightly  drunk,  and  didn't  know 
exactly  what  he  was  doing." 


152        A  Norsemaris  Pilgrimage. 

Varberg  sent  the  Baron  a  keen, scornful  look; 
but  he  disdained  to  contradict  him,  for  fear  of 
implicating  Ruth  in  an  affair  that  would  neces- 
sarily bring  her  into  an  unpleasant  position,  and 
which  after  all  could  lead  to  nothing  worse  than 
a  fine  of  five  or  ten  dollars.  After  some  further 
cross-examination,  the  case  was  dismissed,  and 
Varberg  paid  his  fine  on  the  spot.  He  was  just 
about  to  leave  the  court  when  one  of  the  police- 
men who  had  assisted  at  his  arrest  rushed  up  to 
the  judge,  laid  a  photograph  down  on  the  desk 
before  him,  and  began  to  talk  and  gesticulate 
eagerly.  Varberg  finally  concluded  that  he  must 
be  the  subject  of  their  discussion,  for  the  judge 
now  glanced  at  him,  and  now  again  at  the  pho- 
tograph ;  as  he  was  about  to  depart,  the  police- 
man called  him  back,  and  ordered  him  to  remain. 

"  You  say  that  you  are  an  American  citizen," 
said  his  honor.  "  Have  you  any  passport  to 
show  that  this  is  actually  the  case?  " 

"  Passports  are  no  longer  used  in  civilized 
countries,"  replied  Olaf.  "  I  have  none." 

The  judge  raised  his  eyebrows,  and  nodded 
significantly  to  the  policeman. 


To  the  Rescue.  153 

"  You  don't  happen  to  know  the  name  Fedor 
Voriakoff?  "  continued  he. 

"  I  do  not,  sir." 

"  And  you  have  never  been  in  Russia  ?  " 

"  Never." 

Quick  as  lightning  flashed  through  the  unfor- 
tunate Norseman's  brain  what  Ruth  had  told 
him  the  day  before  about  his  resemblance  to  the 
Russian  Internationalist.  He  suddenly  grew 
"very  red  in  his  face ;  the  judge  noticed  it.  nodded 
again  contentedly,  and  said : 

"  At  all  events,  we  shall  have  to  detain  you 
here,  until  you  can  prove  to  us  satisfactorily 
who  you  are." 

"  That  may  be  very  difficult,  sir,  as  I  have  no 
friends  here  in  Leipsic." 

The  policeman  in  the  meanwhile  took  the 
measure  of  Varberg's  height,  and  narrowly 
viewed  his  face,  all  of  which  our  hero  endured 
with  a  calm  composure,  well  worthy  of  the  Viking 
race.  After  some  more  questioning  and  other 
ceremonies  he  was  conducted  back  to  the  cell 
which  he  had  previously  occupied.  He  de- 
manded pen  and  ink,  and  immediately  sat  down 
to  write  a  note  to  the  American  consul,  stating 
7* 


154       ^  Norseman's  Pilgrimage. 

his  difficulty,  and  asking  what  he  had  to  do. 
Toward  evening  he  received  a  polite  reply, 
informing  him  that,  as  he  had  no  papers  to  prove 
his  citizenship,  he,  the  consul,  had  no  means  of 
helping  him. 

Two  days  later  everything  was  disorder  and 
confusion  in  the  house  with  the  old-fashioned 
archway.  The  vacation  had  commenced,  and 
Mrs.  Elder  and  her  nieces  had  received  an  invi- 
tation to  come  and  spend  the  summer  with  • 
some  friends  in  England.  Half-packed  trunks 
and  a  half  a  dozen  bandboxes  of  various  sizes 
and  colors  lay  scattered  about  on  the  floor,  and 
the  tables  and  chairs  were  covered  with  books, 
hats,  ribbons,  and  freshly  ironed  skirts  and 
dresses.  Dearie  was  running  about  the  room 
busying  herself  with  packing,  and  Ruth  was  sit- 
ting at  the  window  in  her  usual  attitude,  resting 
her  chin  upon  her  folded  hands.  Her  face  wore 
a  grave,  almost  sad  expression  ;  her  cheeks  were 
pale,  and  her  eyes  looked  large  and  lustrous. 
Suddenly  she  arose,  then  stopped  in  the  middle 
of  the  floor,  as  if  struggling  with  some  great 
resolution.  She  hastily  put  on  her  hat,  threw  a 


To  the  Rescue.  155 

light    shawl   about    her  shoulders,   and   walked 
toward  the  door. 

"  Ruth,  where  are  you  going  ?  "  cried  Dearie. 
"  Supper  will  be  ready  in  a  few  minutes." 

"  I  am  going  out  to  take  a  walk." 

"This  is  indeed  a  most  extraordinary  time 
for  taking  a  walk,"  replied  the  cousin.  "  If  I 
were  you,  I  should  certainly  not  trouble  myself 
so  much  about  a  man  whom  I  had  hardly  known 
for  four  weeks." 

"  Fortunately  you  don't  know  what  I  am 
troubling  myself  about,"  said  Ruth  scornfully, 
and  hastened  away.  Dearie  was  mystified  ;  she 
could  not  imagine  how  this  change  had  come 
over  her  cousin ;  why  she  was  so  pale  and 
distracted,  and  why  she  had  walked  about  as  in 
a  dream  the  whole  day.  But  Dearie  contented 
herself  with  exclaiming,  "  Well,  I  must  say  !  " 
and  went  on  packing.  If  she  had  read  the 
Leipsic  paper  for  that  morning,  she  might  per- 
haps have  found  the  clue  to  the  mystery. 

Ruth  hurried  up  one  street  and  down 
another ;  her  feet  were  as  if  benumbed ;  the 
ground  seemed  to  swell  and  again  to  sink  be- 
neath her  tread,  and  she  hardly  knew  where  she 


156        A  ^Norsemaris  Pilgrimage. 

was  stepping.  Unconsciously  she  pressed  her 
lips  together,  and  kept  her  eyes  steadfastly 
fixed  on  the  stones  in  the  pavement.  She 
could  not  get  rid  of  the  feeling  that  she  was 
doing  something  wrong,  or  at  least  unwomanly, 
and  now  and  then  she  cast  a  shy  glance  at  some 
passer-by,  as  if  fearing  that  her  face  should 
betray  her  secret.  With  a  beating  heart  she 
mounted  the  broad  stone  staircase  of  the  jail, 
and  inquired  of  the  woman  who  was  sweeping 
the  hall,  where  she  could  find  the  jailer.  The 
woman  looked  wonderingly  at  her,  then  mur- 
mured something  between  her  teeth,  and  after 
some  minutes  returned  with  a  rough,  ruddy- 
bearded  Hercules  who  held  a  large  bunch  of 
keys  in  his  hand. 

"What  do  you  want?"  asked  he  brusquely, 
striking  the  keys  against  his  thigh. 

"  I  want  to  see  a  friend,"  answered  Ruth  in 
a  low  voice. 

"  Have  you  a  permit?" 

"No;  I  didn't  know  that  it  was  necessary." 

"  I  can't  let  you  in  without  that.  You  may 
perhaps  get  one  from  the  assistant  master  of  the 
police  in  the  office  across  the  street." 


To  the  Rescue  157 

And  he  turned  his  back  on  her,  and,  marched 
away,  rattling  violently  with  his  keys. 

Ruth  crossed  the  street  and  entered  the  office. 
There  were  two  or  three  showily  dressed  gentle- 
men standing  at  the  bar  talking  with  the  officer. 
She  pulled  her  veil  down  over  her  face ;  and 
seated  herself  at  the  door  in  the  hope  that  they 
would  soon  go  away.  But  they  took  their  time  ; 
and  at  last  the  officer  locked  his  desk,  and  put 
on  his  hat.  She  had  to  conquer  her  pride ;  ad- 
vanced to  the  bar,  and  in  a  voice  which,  in  spite 
of  her  efforts,  trembled  a  little,  she  asked 
for  permission  to  visit  the  supposed  Russian 
prisoner. 

"  What  is  your  relation  to  him  ?  "  asked  the 
master  of  the  police.  "  Are  you  his  wife  ?  " 

"  No,"  she  stammered  feebly ;  her  face  burned 
as  with  fever,  and  she  felt  as  if  she  were  going  to 
sink  into  the  floor. 

"  What  are  you  then  ?  "  inquired  her  tormen- 
tor harshly." 

"  I  am  his  friend." 

"  Ah,  she  is  his  friend,"  repeated  he,  turning 
to  the  gentlemen,  who  both  glanced  insolently 


158        A  Norsemaris  Pilgrimage. 

at  her,  and  then  burst  into  laughter.  "  No,  we 
don't  admit  friends" 

That  was  too  much  for  her.  Her  indignation 
was  kindled  within  her,  and  her  womanly  wrath 
mastered  her  grief.  She  threw  her  veil  back, 
raised  her  head,  and  advanced  a  step  toward  the 
officer. 

"  Sir,"  said  she,  in  a  tone  which  at  once  de- 
manded respect, "  what  right  have  you  to  insult  a 
lady  who  comes  here  to  ask  of  you  what  it  is  not 
in  your  power  to  deny  her?  The  gentleman 
whom  I  wish  to  see  has  been  convicted  of  no 
crime,  and  his  case  is  simply  that  of  mistaken 
identity.  Now  he  needs  the  assistance  of  his 
friends  to  prove  who  he  is.  If  you  refuse  me  ad- 
mission, I  shall  procure  it  to-morrow  through  the 
American  consul ;  and  I  shall  take  care  to  have 
your  behavior  toward  me  duly  reported." 

The  Teuton  was  not  a  little  bewildered  at 
this  unexpected  outburst.  He  stood  for  a  min- 
ute with  a  perplexed  frown  on  his 'brow,  as  if 
meditating  whether  he  ought  to  be  angry  or  not ; 
then,  with  a  surly  mien,  he  scratched  his  name  to 
a  printed  permit,  and  handed  it  to  Ruth.  The 
sun  was  near  its  setting  as  she  reached  the  street ; 


To  tlie  Rescue.  159 

she  again  entered  the  gloomy  edifice,  and  has- 
tened onward  through  the  dark,  cool  vaults. 
She  presented  her  paper  at  the  jailer's  lodge, 
and  was  conducted  by  the  same  ruddy-bearded 
Hercules  through  a  labyrinth  of  corridors,  stairs, 
and  galleries,  until  at  length  they  stopped  at  a 
small  door,  which  was  heavily  bolted,  and  more- 
over secured  by  a  huge  iron  bar. 

"  Ah,"  thought  Ruth,  "  here  he  has  had  to 
spend  three  long  days,  and  all  on  my  account, 
because  he  was  good,  and  brave,  and  generous !  " 

The  door  groaned  on  its  hinges  as  the  jailer 
pushed  it  open.  Ruth  steeled  her  nerves,  and 
determined  not  to  give  away  to  any  grief  or 
emotion.  She  peered  into  the  cell,  and  by  the 
glimmer  of  the  departing  daylight  saw  a  stoop- 
ing figure  seated  on  a  wooden  stool,  close  to  the 
wall.  He  did  not  stir  as  she  entered,  but  re- 
mained in  the  same  attitude,  with  his  head  rest- 
ing on  his  hands.  A  sudden  fright  seized  her ; 
she  bent  down  over  him,  laid  her  hand  on  his 
shoulder,  and  whispered,  "  Mr.  Varberg ! "  He 
sprang  up — then  again  staggered  backward 
against  the  wall. 


160        A  Norseman's  Pilgrimage. 

"  Miss  Ruth  !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Can  I  trust 
my  eyes?" 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Varberg,"  answered  she,  "  it  is  I. 
I  have  come  here  to  see  what  I  can  do  to  get 
you  away  from  this  horrible  place.  We  are  all 
going  to  start  for  France  and  England  in  a  few 
days  ;  so,  you  see  there  is  no  time  to  be  lost." 

"  It  is  very  kind  of  you  to  think  of  me  in  my 
present  misfortune  ;  but  I  am  afraid  nothing  can 
be  done.  I  have  given  up  all  hope.  I  shall 
probably  have  to  go  to  Russia,  and  there  they 
will  find  out  their  mistake  ;  but  I  thank  you  a 
thousand  times  for  coming  to  tell  me  good-by." 

"  I  did  not  come  to  tell  you  good-by,  and 
still  lest  did  I  come  to  be  thanked,"  answered 
Ruth  calmly  (and  he  did  not  suspect  what  that 
calmness  cost  her)  ;  "  I  came  to  consult  with 
you,  and  then  to  act.  First,  have  you  no  official 
document,  issued  in  the  United  States,  or  any 
communication  from  people  who  are  known  to 
the  authorities  here  ?  " 

He  opened  his  eyes  widely — it  was  strange 
to  hear  her  talk  in  that  calm,  practical  way — and 
after  some  hesitation  he  replied  : 

"  No ;  nothing  that  I  can  think  of." 


To  the  Rescue.  161 

"  Have  you  not  a  letter  of  credit  ?"  . 

"  Certainly." 

"And  where  is  it?" 

"  It  is  in  my  desk,  at  my  lodgings." 

"  Then,  please  write  a  note  to  your  landlady 
requesting  her  to  send  me  this  letter  of  credit  at 
once.  Or  better,  if  you  will  give  me  the  key  to 
the  desk,  I  will  send  for  it  myself.  You  have 
probably  drawn  money  on  it  several  times  since 
your  arrival  here  ?  " 

"  Every  other  week,  for  the  last  six  months." 

"Then  leave  the  rest  to  me.  By  to-morrow 
night  you  shall  be  out.  Now,  good-night.  I 
can  never  hope  to  repay  the  debt  I  owe  you  ! " 
and  she  reached  out  her  hand  to  him.  He 
seized  it  and  pressed  it  to  his  lips ;  but  the  hand 
was  cold,  and  it  trembled.  Varberg  was  deeply 
moved.  How  cruelly  had  he  not  judged  and 
misunderstood  this  young  girl !  There  she  stood, 
apparently  proud  and  erect,  and  talked  in  a  com- 
posed, business-like  way,  while  the  cold  perspira- 
tion burst  from  her  brow,  and  her  frame  trem- 
bled with  suppressed  emotion.  If  it  had  not 
been  ungenerous  to  take  advantage  of  this 
moment's  excitement,  he  would  have  thrown 


1 62         A  Norseman's  Pilgrimage. 

himself  at  her  feet,  and  begged  her  to  forgive 
and  to  love  him.  He  still  held  her  hand  in 
both  his,  and  looked  up  into  her  large  dark  eyes, 
which  glistened  with  the  lustre  of  a  gathering 
tear.  He  noticed  a  slight  nervous  quivering 
of  the  upper  lip,  but  otherwise  her  features 
showed  no  sign  of  unusual  feeling. 

"  Ah,  Miss  Ruth,"  said  he  warmly,  "  how 
good  and  how  noble  you  are,  and  how  sadly  I 
have  misjudged  you  !  " 

"  I  am  not  so  good  as  you  think,"  answered 
she,  attempting  to  smile.  "  Good  night !  " 

The  rusty  hinges  groaned  ;  with  a  sharp  click 
the  key  turned  in  the  lock,  and  with  a  heavy 
thump  the  iron  bar  was  pushed  before  the  door. 
He  strained  his  ear  to  catch  the  sound  of  her 
receding  footsteps  ;  but  they  were  too  light — he 
did  not  hear  them.  He  sprang  forward  and 
struck  his  hand  against  his  forehead. 

"  Good  God  ! "  cried  he,  staring  around  him 
on  the  gray,  naked  walls.  "  Where  am  I  ?  " 

He  threw  himself  down  on  the  hard  straw 
mattress,  covered  his  face  with  his  hands,  and 
breathed  heavily.  He  had  hardly  tasted  of 
food  for  two  days,  and  overwhelmed  with  weari- 


To  the  Rescue  163 

ness  and  exhaustion,  he  fell  into  a  troubled, 
feverish  sleep. 

It  is  hardly  necessary  to  recount  in  detail 
Ruth's  adventures  during  the  next  day,  and  the 
means  by  which  she  procured  her  friend's 
release.  Having  obtained  the  letter  of  credit, 
she  called  on  the  banker  with  whom  Varberg 
had  his  account,  briefly  stated  to  him  what  had 
happened,  and  asked  for  his  assistance.  She 
called  his  attention  to  the  fact  that  the  letter 
was  dated  December  last,  while  the  Russian 
criminal,  according  to  the  advertisement,  had 
not  disappeared  until  March  of  the  present  year, 
which  in  itself  was  sufficient  proof  that  the  two 
persons  could  not  be  identical.  The  banker, 
moved  by  her  beauty  and  her  earnestness,  rather 
than  by  any  sympathy  for  the  persecuted  Norse- 
man, promised  her  to  present  the  case  at  once  to 
the  authorities.  But  justice  is  slow  in  Germany, 
as  elsewhere,  and  it  was  not  until  nearly  ten 
o'clock  in  the  evening  that  the  herculean  jailer, 
accompanied  by  an  assistant  of  the  police, 
opened  the  door  of  Varberg's  cell,  and  told  him 
that  he  was  at  liberty  to  depart.  He  was  not 
American  enough  at  that  moment  to  think  of 


164        A  Norseman's  Pilgrimage. 

claiming  redress  or  satisfaction  ;  his  only  thought 
was  whether  Ruth  had  left  Leipsic  or  not,  and 
the  only  redress  he  wished  was  an  hour's  happi- 
ness with  her. 

It  was  a  dark  night,  and  a  thick,  impenetra- 
ble fog  brooded  over  the  empty  streets.  The 
watchman's  horn  sounded  from  the  cupola  of 
the  court-house  and  startled  a  feeble  echo  from 
the  opposite  side  of  the  square,  and  the  watch- 
man of  St.  Thomas's  answered  with  a  long, 
dolorous  note.  The  lantern  in  the  church 
steeple  hung  as  if  suspended  in  mid-air,  and 
glimmered  faintly  in  the  dreary  solitude  of  the 
fog.  Varberg  rushed  like  a  madman  through 
the  desolate  city.  His  head  swam  ;  he  felt 
faint  and  dizzy,  and  his  knees  almost  refused  to 
support  the  burden  of  his  body.  Nevertheless 
all  his  soul  was  rilled  with  one  strong  desire,  and 
this  desire  imparted  strength  to  his  tottering 
limbs.  He  hastily  crossed  the  promenade, 
swung  himself  over  the  garden  fence,  and  stood 
anxiously  peering  through  the  gloom.  The 
great  dusky  facade  of  the  building  stared  upon 
him  with  a  spectre-like  frown,  and  the  last  spark 
of  hope  was  quenched  within  him.  No  friendly 


To  tJie  Rescue.  165 

light  beckoned  to  him  from  her  window.  She 
slept — all  the  city  slept — all  was  gloom  and 
desolation. 

Hour  after  hour  he  wandered  about  in  the 
wet  garden,  now  slipping  in  the  muddy  walks, 
now  stumbling  over  a  flower-bed  or  a  tree  root. 
The  lilacs  shook  their  cold  tears  over  his  head  ; 
the  night  folded  him  in  its  clammy  arms,  and 
pressed  its  chilly  kiss  upon  his  forehead,  until  he 
shuddered  through  every  nerve  and  fibre.  An 
intolerable  hunger  tormented  him,  and  his  hands 
and  feet  were  benumbed  with  cold  and  exhaus- 
tion ;  but  all  hotels  and  restaurants  were  dosed, 
and  moreover  he  had  forgotten  to  reclaim  his 
purse  and  his  papers,  of  which  he  had  been 
deprived  at  the  time  of  his  arrest.  Toward 
morning  he  sauntered  wearily  to  his  lodgings, 
and  by  the  watchman's  assistance  gained  access 
to  the  house.  His  landlady,  dressed  in  a  light 
light  negligee,  met  him  in  the  hall,  and  was  so 
frightened  at  his  appearance  that  she  came  near 
fainting. 

"Mein  lieber  Doctor,  wo  sind  sie  dock 
gewesen ! "  cried  she,  as  she  recovered  her 
senses. 


1 66        A  Norseman's  Pilgrimage. 

"  Ich  bin  im  Gcfdngniss  gewesen"  answered 
he  absently. 

During  the  greater  part  of  that  day  ne  slept, 
and  when,  toward  evening,  he  sought  the  house 
with  the  archway,  the  nest  was  empty  and  the 
bird  had  flown. 


The  Clock  Strikes.  167 

CHAPTER  X. 
The  Clock  Strikes. 

T~\  URING  the  next  week  time  hung  heavily 
*~~  on  Varberg's  hands;  hour  after  hour  he 
went  aimlessly  strolling  through  Rosenthal,  and 
when  he  became  weary  of  this  kind  of  amuse- 
ment he  would  drop  into  some  random  restau- 
rant, where  he  was  sure  of  finding  acquaintances, 
and  there  he  would  sit  distractedly  devouring 
one  dish  of  ice-cream  after  the  other,  and  pas- 
sively suffer  himself  to  be  imposed  upon  by  wait- 
ers and  fellow  students.  His  unexpected  arrest 
had  prevented  him  from  meeting  the  Baron  at  the 
time  appointed,  and  his  further  apprehensions 
regarding  the  duel  were  at  last  removed  by  a 
note  from  his  opponent,  dated  Fulda,  in  which 
the  writer  informed  him  that  "  circumstances " 
had  compelled  him  to  leave  the  city,  and  that 
consequently  he.  withdrew  his  challenge.  Here 
he  was  even  'deprived  of  the  opportunity  to 


1 68        A  Norsemaris  Pilgrimage. 

perform  an  heroic  act,  which  in  some  measure 
would  have  relieved  the  dreary  emptiness  of  his 
existence  ;  for  if  he  had  fought  the  duel,  it  would 
have  been  done  for  Ruth's  sake,  and  if  he  had 
been  offered  the  chance  of  refusing  it,  it  would 
have  been  an  equally  heroic  deed,  which  she 
would  have  treasured  up  in  her  heart,  and  which 
would  have  raised  him  in  her  estimation.  But 
fate  persisted  in  turning  his  tragic  plots  into 
farces,  and  he  had  no  choice  but  to  accept  the 
humiliating  position  of  a  farcical  hero.  In  another 
week  the  University  semester  would  close,  and 
he  would  point  his  course  northward,  where  his 
old  grandparents  and  his  sister  were  eagerly 
awaiting  him.  Strange  to  say,  however,  within 
these  last  weeks  all  his  enthusiasm  for  his  native 
land,  with  its  rugged  rocks  and  its  fair-haired 
damsels,  had  cooled,  and  he  became  seriously 
alarmed  at  the  prospect  of  appearing  among  his 
relatives  in  this  new  character  of  an  apathetic 
cosmopolitan. 

Leipsic  seemed  the  mere  wraith  of  its  own 
self  after  Ruth  had  gone.  The  mornings  were 
what  a  romanticist  would  have  termed  "  impu- 
dently awake,"  the  noonday  hour  was  as  if  lulled 


The  Clock  Strikes.  169 

into  a  heavy  fever  doze,  and  the  sultry  night  gave 
neither  rest  nor  comfort.  It  lasted  some  time 
before  he  reached  the  conclusion  that  Ruth 
must  have  left  so  suddenly  because  she  didn't 
desire  to  see  him ;  he  would  have  gladly  dis- 
missed the  thought  of  such  a  duplicity,  as  he 
called  it,  on  her  part,  but  a  hundred  unwelcome 
arguments  thronged  to  its  support,  until  he  was 
forced  to  accept  the  situation,  humiliating 
though  it  be.  He  had  noticed  that  she  treated 
him  coldly  the  day  after  that  fatal  ball,  and  the 
reason  for  this  he  sought  in  the  little  scene  in 
the  night  when  she  had  in  his  presence  yielded 
to  a  burst  of  grief,  of  emotion,  or  of  nervousness, 
or  God  knows  what  it  was  ;  and  he  had  ungen- 
erously accepted  it  as  an  evidence  of  her  inter- 
est in  him,  and  had  then  fled  like  a  coward, 
perhaps,  because  he  feared  that  a  delay  would 
necessarily  have  led  him  to  betray  those  feelings 
which,  as  he  flattered  himself,  he  had  hitherto 
scrupulously  concealed.  She  had  humiliated 
herself  before  him :  what  then  could  be  more 
natural  than  that  she  wished  to  get  as  far  away 
from  him  as  possible?  That  she  had  exerted 
herself  in  his. 'behalf,  and  procured  his  release 
8 


170        A  Norseman's  Pilgrimage. 

from  the  arrest,  might  have  been  a  deliberate 
and  even  a  selfish  act.  She  had  herself  been 
the  innocent  cause  of  his  imprisonment,  and  a 
simple  sense  of  justice  and  duty  had  impelled 
her  to  explain  the  misunderstanding.  She 
would  not  yield  him  the  privilege  of  suffering 
for  her  sake ;  he  was  to  have  no  claim  upon  her 
sympathies,  perhaps  not  even  upon  her  friendship 
and  her  gratitude.  It  was  this  gloomy  train  of 
thought  which  incessantly  occupied  Varberg's 
fancy  during  the  last  week  of  his  stay  at  Leipsic. 
"  Alas,"  said  he  to  himself,  as  he  promenaded 
meditatively  up  and  down  on  the  floor,  "  our 
account  is  even,  our  tale  is  told."  And  that 
same  night  he  wrote  a  poem  which  began  thus  : 

A  sleepless,  joyless — nay,  and  deathless  passion  ! 

A  few  days  before  his  departure  he  received 
letters  from  Norway,  in  which  his  grandfather, 
grandmother,  and  Brynhild  (each  according  to 
his  or  her  own  fashion)  expressed  their  joy  at 
the  prospect  of  seeing  him.  It  made  him  feel 
wretched  and  guilty,  for  he  could  not  but  consider 
how  little  he  had  done  to  merit  the  endearing 
names  they  bestowed  upon  him.  How  little  had 


The  Clock  Strikes.  171 

he  thought  of  them  during  these  many  months 
while  they  had  been  counting  the  days  until  his 
return !  And  even  now,  although  he  acknowl- 
edged the  injustice,  he  was  as  powerless  as  ever 
to  repair  it.  In  a  state  of  utter  disgust,  he  at 
length  boarded  the  train  which  was  to  take  him 
by  way  of  Frankfort  to  Strasbourg,  whence  he 
expected  to  continue  the  journey  to  Paris,  then 
cross  the  channel,  and  take  steamer  from  Lon- 
don to  Norway.  As  the  train  moved  out  of  the 
depot,  a  party  of  students  began  to  sing :  "  Wo 
ist  des  Deutschen  Vaterland  ? "  and  Varberg 
involuntarily  applied  the  sentiment  of  the  song 
to  himself,  and  profoundly  sympathized  with  this 
poet,  who,  without  intending  it,  has  expressed 
so  strikingly  how  vague  to  a  German  mind  is 
the  idea  of  the  German  fatherland. 

The  wheels  rattled  away  over  the  rails,  the 
smoke  whirled  past  the  windows,  and  the  jolly 
companions  in  the  next  car  kept  up  an  incessant 
brawl,  and  seemed  nothing  daunted  either  by  the 
heat  or  by  the  ingenious  discomfort  of  their  quar- 
ters. Varberg  being  alone  with  an  old  gentleman 
in  his  coupt,  pressed  himself  up  into  a  corner, 
shut  his  eyes,  a'nd  allowed  his  mind  to  roam  idly 


172        A  Norseman's  Pilgrimage. 

wherever  it  listed.  First  he  imagined  himself 
writing  a  letter  to  Ruth,  in  which  he  assumed  an 
air  of  cheerful  unconcern,  assured  her  in  the 
politest  phrases  of  his  heartfelt  interest  in  all  her 
doings,  and  expressed  the  hope  that  the  future 
might  afford  him  an  opportunity  of  proving  how 
highly  he  prized  her  good  opinion  and  her 
friendship.  Such  a  letter  would  evidently  re- 
move all  fear  of  further  misunderstandings,  and 
would  no  doubt  rehabilitate  him  in  her  estima- 
tion. And  however  much  his  literary  half, 
which  was  fond  of  asserting  its  independence, 
approved  of  this  plan,  his  more  human  self  con- 
demned it  as  a  piece  of  dishonesty  and  coward- 
ice. Moreover,  there  was  this  obstacle,  that  he 
had  no  idea  of  where  Ruth  was,  and  had  conse- 
quently no  means  of  reaching  her.  It  was  the 
helplessness  of  his  situation,  or,  more  probably, 
the  gloominess  of  the  prospect  which  lay  before 
him — a  long,  empty  life  without  her — which 
called  up  to  his  mind  the  thought  of  death.  In 
an  altogether  irresponsible  mood  he  let  one 
fancy  succeed  another,  until  he  imagined  him- 
self dead,  and  saw  Ruth  sitting  in  the  parlor  in 
Leipsic,  with  the  morning  paper  in  her  hand  ; 


The  Clock  Strikes.  173 

suddenly  she  turns  pale,  starts  up  with  a  fright- 
ened look,  and  hastens  out  of  the  room.  In  an 
hour  she  returns :  but  her  eyes  are  red  and 
swollen,  and  her  upper  lip  quivers  just  a  little,  as 
it  always  did  whenever  she  tried  to  conquer  an 
overwhelming  emotion.  Mrs.  Elder  anxiously 
inquires  what  has  happened,  and  Ruth  points 
silently  to  the  paper,  which  Mrs.  Elder  gazes  at 
with  a  profound  air,  although  she  cannot  read  a 
word  of  it.  Varberg  found  this  a  very  pleasing 
kind  of  a  reverie,  and  took  a  fierce  satisfaction  in 
thinking  that  now,  when  it  was  too  late,  she  had 
at  last  discovered  his  worth.  After  all,  what 
greater  happiness  could  he  desire  than  to  have 
her  shed  tears  over  him,  and  to  have  her  cherish 
a  tender,  regretful  memory  of  him  ?  These  were 
the  reflections  of  Varberg  the  author,  who  was 
at  times  not  free  from  sentimentality.  "  And 
then  she  would  go  and  marry  somebody  else," 
suggested  a  prosaic  voice  in  his  breast,  and  he 
had  to  own  that  this  was  only  too  probable, 
which  at  once  cut  short  the  reverie. 

In  the  evening  he  took  supper  in  Frankfort, 
and  reached  Strasbourg  about  four  o'clock  the 
following  morning.  He  took  up  his  lodgings  in 


174       ^  Norsemaris  Pilgrimage. 

the  Inn  of  the  Holy  Spirit,  on  account  of  its 
association  with  Goethe's  youth,  although  it  was 
by  no  means  the  best  hotel  in  the  city.  He  left 
orders  to  be  waked  up  at  eight,  but  the  servant 
was  probably  too  sleepy  to  understand  him  ;  and 
to  his  utter  disgust,  he  found  that  it  was  not  far 
from  noon  when  finally  he  was  roused  by  the 
jingling  of  a  bell  out  in  the  hall.  He  made  a 
hasty  toilet,  and  a  still  hastier  breakfast,  con- 
sulted his  guide-book  in  regard  to  the  situation 
of  the  Cathedral,  and  started  out  in  the  hope 
that  his  good  instinct  would  lead  him  by  the 
directest  way  to  the  object  of  his  search.  He 
bestowed  but  a  passing  glance  upon  the  time- 
blackened  fronts  of  the  houses,  with  their  queer 
old-worldish  look  and  their  many-gabled  way- 
wardness ;  the  pretty  Alsatian  girls,  in  their  pic- 
turesque attire,  with  the  white  embroidered 
aprons,  half  covering  the  front  of  their  short 
skirts,  interested  him  but  little.  He  noticed 
that  most  of  them  carried  hymn-books  and  a 
folded  handkerchief  in  their  hands,  which  re- 
minded him  of  the  possibility  of  its  being  Sun- 
day. And  immediately  a  Sabbath  feeling  stole 
over  him ;  he  noticed  a  certain  festive  look  in 


Tht  Clock  Strikes.  175 

the  gray  houses,  and  in  the  freshly  swept  streets ; 
the  sky  looked  serener,  the  sunshine  clearer,  and 
nature  seemed  to  be  breathing  with  a  fuller 
breast  than  before.  He  unconsciously  slack- 
ened his  speed  and  bent  his  head,  and  half  for- 
got where  he  was  going,  when  suddenly  a  mighty 
rush  of  metallic  clangor  fell  upon  the  silence  like 
an  avalanche,  startling  the  repose  of  a  mountain 
ravine  into  a  cataract  of  sonorous  thunder.  Var- 
berg  swiftly  raised  his  eyes — and  for  an  instant 
he  lost  his  breath.  There,  is  the  broad,  affluent 
light  of  the  noonday,  rose  the  solemn  presence 
of  the  minster  with  its  sculptured  facade,  serenely 
grave,  majestic,  and  withal  joyous  and  fantasti- 
cally graceful.  He  had  indeed,  as  Lowell  says, 
"  taken  his  minster  unawares." 

The  lofty  spire  climbed,  with  grand  aspira- 
tion, for  and  ever  farther  up  into  the  pure  blue 
space,  and  as  his  spirit  caught  its  ethereal  sug- 
gestion, a  proud  sense  of  kinship  stirred  in  the 
Norseman's  bosom,  and  an  exhilarating  thrill  of 
happiness  shot  through  his  nerves.  His  frame 
seemed  to  swell  into  larger  proportions ;  he  in- 
voluntarily raised  his  head,  and  his  breast  ex- 
panded with  a  'magnificent  consciousness  of 


176        A  Norseman's  Pilgrimage. 

strength.  The  artistic  purpose  of  his  life  assumed 
a  fresh  magnitude,  and  mere  personal  concerns 
appeared  small  and  sordid,  and  faded  away  into 
nothingness. 

"  Thank  heaven,  I  have  at  last  found  my 
own  true  self  again,"  he  murmured.  "  And  I 
need  not  blush  to  meet  my  old  grandfather's 
eye,  and  own  myself  a  true  and  honest  Norse- 
man." 

"  And  as  for  that  incipient  love  affair,"  he 
added  mentally,  "  I  am  glad  that  it  is  all  over, 
and  that  Fate  was  wiser  than  I." 

The  minute  hand  of  the  Cathedral  clock  was 
was  fast  approaching  twelve ;  Varberg  reluc- 
tantly tore  himself  loose  from  the  spell  of  con- 
templation, and  entered  the  church  through  the 
middle  portal.  A  large  crowd  of  people  had  gath- 
ered about  the  famous  astronomical  clock,  await- 
ing the  appearance  of  Christ  and  his  twelve  apos- 
tles. Varberg  hurried  up  the  aisle,  regardless  of 
the  worshippers,  who  knelt  solitary  or  in  scattered 
groups  about  the  shrine  of  some  cherished  saint, 
and  he  succeeded  in  elbowing  his  way  through 
the  crowd,  and  in  gaining  a  favorable  position 
among  the  first  rows  of  the  spectators.  Inside 


The  Clock  Strikes.  177 

the  railing  a  Frenchman,  in  a  semi-clerical  attire, 
and,  somehow  or  other,  with  the  appearance  of 
a  degraded  ecclesiastic,  stood  violently  gestic- 
ulating, as  he  pointed  out  and  described  the  nu- 
merous complications  of  this  eighth  wonder  of 
the  world.  As  the  hour  of  noon  arrived,  and  all 
were  breathlessly  expectant,  the  throng  became 
denser  about  the  railing,  and  everybody  stood  on 
tiptoe,  endeavoring  to  look  over  his  neighbor's 
head.  The  hush  became  intenser ;  the  French- 
man raised  his  hand  solemnly ;  Varberg  bent 
forward,  and  saw — two  deep  dark  eyes  glowing 
upon  him.  In  the  same  instant  there  came  a 
surprised  "  Oh."  All  heads  were  swiftly  turned, 
but  fortunately  then  the  Four  Ages  of  Man  gave 
the  signal,  and  struck  the  four  quarters  of  the 
hour.  But  Olaf— what  did  he  heed  the  Four 
Ages  ?  The  old  skeleton,  Father  Time,  struck 
twelve  blows  on  his  bell,  the  angel  on  the  first 
gallery  jingled  on  his  instrument,  and  the  twelve 
apostles  moved  out  and  made  an  abrupt  bow  be- 
fore the  figure  of  the  Saviour;  but  on  Olafs 
senses  all  these  musical  noises  buzzed  and 
hummed  remotely,  like  the  rush  of  distant  waters. 

He  desperately  clung  to  the  possibility  of  a  de- 
8* 


178        A  Norseman's  Pilgrimage. 

lusion,  but  soon  the  uncertainty  culminated  in 
the  conviction  that  these  eyes  could  belong  to 
none  other  than  Ruth  ;  he  looked  once  more — 
there  was  no  room  for  doubt ;  it  was  Ruth. 
While  the  clock  still  kept  up  its  noise,  he  strove 
hard  to  collect  his  thoughts ;  Ruth  had  again 
turned  her  head,  and  was  apparently  absorbed 
in  the  miraculous  mechanism.  The  cock  flapped 
his  wings,  and  crowed  thrice,  and  a  chorus  of 
ghostly  echoes  answered  from  the  remotest  re- 
cesses of  the  church.  There  was  something  shud- 
deringly  gay  in  this  shrill  metallic  voice,  which 
struck  mockingly  against  the  solemn  vaults,  then 
as  it  were  suddenly  froze,  dropping  down  dead 
or  vanishing  in  mid  air.  It  reminded  Varberg 
of  the  sensation  he  had  had  when  entering  the 
Chamber  of  Horrors  in  Mme.  Toussaud's  wax- 
works in  London.  As  the  people  began  to  dis- 
perse, and  the  old  Frenchman  prepared  to  draw 
the  curtain  before  the  clock,  he  advanced  a  step, 
and  stood  at  Ruth's  side. 

"  There  is  evidently  a  destiny  which  shapes 
our  ends,  Miss  Copley,"  said  he,  holding  out  his 
hand  to  her.  "  I  am  so  mystified  that  I  almost 
shudder,  both  with  surprise  and  pleasure." 


The  Clock  Strikes.  179 

"  You  say  that  you  are  pleased  to  see  me, 
Mr.  Varberg,"  answered  she,  with  a  strange 
questioning  glance  in  her  eye,  "  but  I  must 
confess  you  look  anything  but  pleased.  Now 
what  shall  I  choose  to  believe  ?  your  words  or 
your  face  ?  " 

"  I  thought  we  knew  each  other  too  well  to 
misinterpret  each  other's  faces  in  that  way," 
replied  Olaf,  and  attempted  to  smile.  "  If  I 
should  in  this  moment  accept  the  testimony  of 
your  own  face,  I  should  reach  anything  but  a 
flattering  conclusion.  But — by  the  way,  where 
are  your  aunt  and  your  cousin  ?  " 

"  Dearie  is  here  in  the  church  somewhere, 
but  aunt  was  too  tired  to  go ;  she  hasn't  been 
quite  well  since  we  left  Leipsic,  and  I  suppose 
we  shall  have  to  stay  here  for  a  few  days,  until 
she  is  rested." 

Side  by  side  they  walked  down  the  aisle, 
asking  and  answering  such  indifferent  questions 
as  spontaneously  fall  from  the  lips  when  people 
meet  after  a  brief  separation.  Ruth  was  pro- 
voked with  herself  for  having  given  utterance  to 
her  surprise  at  seeing  him ;  and  she  was  half 


180        A  Norseman's  Pilgrimage. 

angry  with  him  for  having  made  no  such 
betrayal  of  his  feelings. 

"  He  didn't  even  come  to  tell  me  good-by, 
although  he  had  promised  to  do  so,"  she 
thought.  "  Now  I  shall  do  my  best  to  show 
how  little  I  care."  And  she  went  on  construct- 
ing ingeniously  revengeful  plans  against  Varberg, 
of  how  she  would  snub  and  ignore  him,  so  as  to 
remove  the  impression  which  she  feared  that  her 
late  efforts  in  his  behalf  must  have  given  him  ; 
but  at  the  bottom  of  her  heart  there  lurked  a 
dread,  which  almost  amounted  to  a  conviction, 
that  he  had  it  in  his  power  to  frustrate  all  her 
fierce  resolutions.  In  her  present  revengeful 
mood,  however,  she  was  loath  to  confess  to  any 
such  weakness,  and  she  persevered  in  plotting, 
until  she  grew  almost  cheerful  in  the  contempla- 
tion of  her  own  shrewd  devices. 

"  Miss  Copley,"  began  he  at  last  in  a  low 
voice,  as  they  stopped  before  the  sculptured 
monument  of  the  Bishop  of  Lichtenberg,  "  I 
have  as  yet  had  no  opportunity  to  thank  you  for 
your — " 

"  Pray  don't,"  she  interrupted  him  hastily. 
"  You  have  nothing  to  thank  me  for.  What  I 


The  Clock  Strikes.  181 

did  was  nothing  but  my  simple  duty — a  duty  to 
myself  rather  than  to  you." 

"Ah,"  he  muttered  sadly,  as  he  fixed  a 
grave  reproachful  glance  upon  her.  "  I  under- 
stand. You  need  have  no  fear,  however,  of  my 
misinterpreting  your  motives.  I  know  you  too 
well  to  suspect  you  of  sentimentality,  and  if  I 
was  bold  to  infer  that  a  friendly  regard  for  me 
prompted  your  action,  then  I  beg  a  hundred 
times  your  forgiveness.  I  promise  you,  I  shall 
never  think  so  again." 

She  saw  in  a  moment  that  she  had  cruelly 
misjudged  him ;  that  she  had  been  selfish  and 
ungenerous;  but  she  was  not  in  a  humor  to 
make  any  such  confession,  and  she  forcibly  ban- 
ished the  unwelcome  thought,  shook  her  head 
impatiently,  and  said,  "Mr.  Varberg,  what 
makes  you  so  stupid  to-day  ?  You  didn't  use  to 
be  so  before.  Why  not  talk  about  something 
more  cheerful  ?  It  can  do  us  no  good  to  dwell 
upon  that  which  is  past.  What  is  done  cannot 
be  helped." 

He  was  about  to  answer ;  but  just  then  they 
were  discovered  by  Miss  Bailey,  who,  quite  for- 
getful of  where  she  was,  came  running  toward 


1 82        A  Norseman^  s  Pilgrimage. 

them,  seized  Varberg's  hand,  and  exclaimed, 
"  Why,  Mr.  Varberg,  who  in  the  world  would 
have  expected  to  find  you  here?  How  delight- 
ful that  you  have  come.  Both  Ruth  and  I  have 
been  very  much  in  need  of  a  gentleman  to  take 
us  around,  and  we  have  been  wishing  a  million 
times  that  you  were  here." 

Ruth  scowled  and  pinched  her  cousin  in  the 
arm  ;  but  innocent  Dearie,  not  understanding  the 
hint,  tore  her  arm  loose,  and  cried  out,  "  But, 
Ruth,  why  do  you  pinch  me  ?  "  The  situation 
was  truly  embarrassing;  Varberg  hastened  to 
inquire  more  particularly  after  Mrs.  Elder's 
health,  and  Dearie  answered  with  a  circumstan- 
tial account  of  their  movements  since  they  had 
left  Leipsic. 

"  I  thought  you  were  going  directly  to  Eng- 
land," said  he,  in  order  to  say  something. 

"  So  we  were,"  replied  Dearie,  while  they 
followed  Ruth,  who  was  hastily  approaching  the 
door.  "  But  Ruth  had  taken  it  into  her  head 
that  she  wanted  to  see  the  Saxon  Switzerland, 
and  so  we  went  to  Dresden  and  stayed  a  few 
days  in  the  mountains.  Now  we  are  going  from 
here  to  Paris,  and  then  to  London ;  and  we  ex- 


The  Clock  Strikes.  183 

pect  to  spend  the  summer  with  some  relatives 
of  ours  in  Northumberland." 

As  they  reached  the  street  Ruth  again  joined 
them,  but  she  left  to  Dearie  and  Varberg  to  cany 
on  the  conversation,  and  only  now  and  then  threw 
in  an  indifferent  remark.  She  carried  her  head 
proudly,  and  in  his  eyes  she  looked  even  taller 
and  more  queenly  than  usual ;  but  he  noticed  a 
burning  red  spot  upon  her  pale  cheek,  and  the 
restlessness  of  her  glance  betrayed  her  inward 
agitation.  At  the  door  of  Hotel  de  Paris  they 
stopped.  Dearie  urged  him  to  come  in  and  dine 
with  them,  but  he  politely  refused. 

"  But  aunt  would  be  so  glad  to  see  you." 

"  I  shall  have  the  pleasure  of  calling  upon  her 
before  leaving  the  city." 

"Then  we  shall  expect  you  this  afternoon. 
You  will  be  sure  to  come,  won't  you?" 

"Certainly." 

For  more  than  two  hours  he  loitered  leisurely 
about  the  city,  listening  for  awhile  to  the  mili- 
tary band  which  played  in  the  Place  d'Armes, 
criticising  the  statues  of  Guttenberg  and  Mar- 
shal Saxe,  and 'indulging  in  philosophical  rev- 
eries at  the  sight  of  the  desolation  which  the  late 


184       A  Norseman^  Pilgrimage. 

siege  has  left  behind  it.  No  friendly  ivy  drapes 
the  nudity  of  these  fire-blackened  ruins  of  the 
Neu-Kirche  and  the  great  Municipal  Library, 
and  time  has  not  yet  softened  those  sharp  broken 
lines  into  anything  like  picturesqueness  and  pa- 
thetic harmony.  Masses  of  dtbris  still  lie  un- 
disturbed in  the  angles  of  the  court,  and  the 
black  walls,  in  melancholy  defiance,  loom  up 
against  the  clear  blue  sky.  Varberg  was  the 
more  impressed  by  all  that  he  saw  because,  in 
his  present  mood,  a  sad  spectacle  had  a  pro- 
founder  significance  to  him  than  a  cheerful  one. 
He  would  gladly  have  persuaded  himself  that 
Ruth's  conduct  was  a  matter  of  indifference  to 
him ;  and  when  at  length  he  was  forced  to  face 
the  truth,  he  vainly  attempted  to  put  a  humor- 
ous interpretation  upon  it,  and  ended  with  piti- 
lessly deriding  himself  for  his  cowardly  depend- 
ence upon  a  woman's  whims. 

The  Inn  of  the  Holy  Ghost  lives  on  the 
memory  of  Goethe,  as  indeed  many  other  sec- 
ond-rate hotels  on  the  continent  do.  The  com- 
pany which  Varberg  met  at  the  table  d'hdte  was 
not  by  any  means  select ;  but  to  his  surprise  he 
found  it  almost  exclusively  French,  and  little 


The  Clock  Strikes.  185 

keenness  of  insight  was  required  to  discover, 
that  the  Teutonic  language  grated  on  Gallic 
ears.  He  concluded  from  the  frown  of  the 
little  gentleman  opposite,  with  the  martial  mous- 
tache and  the  threadbare  coat,  that  there  was 
some  mistake  prevailing  in  regard  to  his  nation- 
ality; and  in  order  to  remove  the  unfavorable 
impression,  he  took  pains  to  address  the  waiter 
in  French.  But  the  little  gentleman's  frown 
grew  fiercer,  and  a  half-bucolic  individual,  who 
sat  dozing  over  a  plate  of  fruit  and  a  bottle  of 
wine,  suddenly  waked  up,  quaffed  his  last  glass 
at  one  draught,  and  rose  from  the  table.  The 
waiters  brought  the  dinner,  and  Varberg  fell  to 
eating ;  and  the  Frenchman,  to  whom  silence 
was  even  more  repugnant  than  the  Germans, 
gradually  relented,  bent  over  toward  the  stran- 
ger, and  asked,  "  Is  this  the  first  time  you  visit 
France,  sir?" 

Varberg  replied  that  it  was. 

"  Then,"  continued  the  little  man,  who  prob- 
ably was  ignorant  of  the  Treaty  of  Versailles 
and  the  removal  of  the  boundary,  "  there  is  a 
great  pleasure  in  store  for  you.  This  country 


1 86        A  Norseman's  Pilgrimage. 

is  even  more  beautiful  than  Italy,  and  I  have 
been  there  too." 

"  You  say  this  country"  remarked  Olaf ;  "  do 
you  mean  France  or  Germany  ?  " 

A  tremendous  scowl  darkened  the  face  of  the 
Gaul,  and  his  eyes  secerned  to  shoot  sparks. 

"Are  you  a  German,  sir  ?  "  he  cried. 

"  I  am  not." 

"  What  are  you  then,  if  I  may  ask  ?  " 

Varberg  had  to  debate  the  question  before 
answering.  Hitherto  he  had  always  called  him- 
self a  Norwegian,  but  he  felt  no  longer  his 
former  pride  in  the  name.  The  memory  of  his 
old  grandfather  shot  through  his  brain  ;  then 
came  the  alluring  thought  of  Ruth,  and  it 
seemed  as  if  the  two  were  irreconcilable  oppo- 
nents who  fought  for  the  possession  of  his  heart. 
A  treacherous  blush  burned  on  his  cheek,  and 
after  a  moment's  reflection  he  said,  "  I  am  an 
American."  And  to  drown  the  voice  of  con- 
science he  emptied  a  glass  of  Rhenish. 

Again  Ruth  had  conquered. 


The  Cathedral  Tower.  187 


CHAPTER  XI. 
The  Cat/if dral  Tower. 

T  T  was  about  five  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  when 
-•-  Varberg  handed  his  card  to  a  waiter  in 
Hotel  de  Paris,  with  the  request  that  it  should 
be  carried  to  Mrs.  Elder.  In  the  meanwhile  he 
was  shown  into  a  reading  room,  where,  quite 
unexpectedly,  he  found  Ruth  seated  at  a  table, 
apparently  absorbed  in  a  German  newspaper. 
Her  recent  agitation  had  left  no  trace  behind  ; 
she  seemed  as  cheerful  and  unconcerned  as  if 
nothing  had  happened.  As  she  caught  sight  of 
Varberg  she  arose  from  her  seat,  came  toward 
him  and  offered  him  her  hand  in  her  own  easy, 
natural  way. 

"  Ah,  I  am  glad  you  did  not  play  the  truant 
again,"  said  she  laughing  as  she  gave  him  a  place 
at  her  side  on  the  sofa.  "  By  the  way,  what 
horribly  stupid  things  these  foreign  newspapers 
are.  I  have  been  trying  to  amuse  myself  with 


1 88       A  Norseman's  Pilgrimage. 

the  '  Kolnische  Zeitung,'  but  I  find  it  a  very 
dreary  sort  of  business.  Not  even  an  interesting 
obituary  notice." 

"  Then  you  read  obituary  notices  for  amuse- 
ment ? ''  remarked  he  with  a  little  show  of  surprise. 

"  Well,  call  it  what  you  please,"  answered 
she  carelessly.  "  They  are  always  the  first  thing 
I  read  in  a  newspaper.  And  now,  tell  me  hon- 
estly, don't  you,  too,  feel  just  a  little  bit  disap- 
pointed when  you  glance  through  an  obituary 
column  and  don't  find  a  single  name  you  know 
in  it?" 

She  asked  the  question  with  such  evident 
sincerity  that  he  couldn't  help  laughing. 

"  Well,  yes,  when  I  think  of  it,"  he  said,  "  I 
must  confess  that  I  have  had  a  similar  sensation. 
However,  as  regards  the  German  newspapers, 
you  are  hardly  just  when  you  say  that  they  are 
dull  because  they  don't  interest  you." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  am  perfectly  just.  I  have 
talked  with  German  ladies  about  it,  and  they 
say  that  they  never  find  the  papers  worth  read- 
ing ;  and  at  home  I  should  be  just  as  likely  to 
forget  to  eat  my  breakfast  as  to  omit  reading  the 
morning  paper." 


The  Cathedral  Tower.  189 

At  this  moment  the  servant  announced  .that 
Mrs.  Elder  was  ready  to  receive  Mr.  Varberg, 
and  both  mounted  the  stairs  together.  On  the 
way  he  revolved  in  his  mind  what  could  have 
wrought  this  sudden  change  in  Ruth,  and  he 
hastily  recalled  the  words  which  had  passed 
between  them  in  the  morning,  vainly  seeking  a 
clue  to  the  mystery. 

"  I  should  like  to  know,"  reflected  he, 4l  what 
sort  of  introverted  logic  it  is  which  governs  her 
mental  machinery.  And,  after  all,"  he  added, 
as  she  opened  the  door  to  him,  "what  would  be 
the  good  of  it  ?  If  I  could  comprehend  her,  I 
should  probably  not  find  her  half  so  delightful. 
I  must  accept  her  as  I  accept  a  miracle,  and  the 
fairest  miracle  which  God  ever  wrought." 

He  found  Mrs.  Elder  seated  in  a  large  easy- 
chair  and  propped  up  in  pillows.  She  was  amia- 
ble, placid,  and  exhaustive  as  usual. 

"  How  happy  you  ought  to  be,  Mr.  Varberg," 
said  she,  after  having  languidly  expressed  her 
delight  at  seeing  him,  "who  are  going  to  a 
country  of  snow  and  glaciers,  while  we  shall 
have  to  languish  here  in  this  insufferable  heat." 

To  Mrs.  Elder's  obstinate  fancy,  Norway  was, 


190        A  Norseman's  Pilgrimage. 

even  at  midsummer,  an  interminable  Arctic  snow 
field.  She  had  evidently  not  profited  by  the 
Norseman's  teachings,  and  on  this  occasion  he 
meekly  coincided  with  her,  and  gave  up  all 
further  attempts  at  conversion. 

"  We  have  just  been  spending  some  time  in 
Dresden,"  resumed  the  old  lady  after  a  brief 
silence,  "  and  we  have  been  very  much  de- 
lighted with  the  galleries.  But  we  should  have 
enjoyed  them  more  if  we  had  had  you  to  explain 
the  pictures  to  us." 

"  No,  with  your  permission,  aunt,"  Ruth 
interposed,  "I  shall  have  to  object  to  that. 
You  will  forgive  me,  Mr.  Varberg,  if  I  say  that 
I,  at  least,  enjoyed  the  galleries  the  better  for 
being  alone.  An  art  critic  like  yourself  may  be 
a  very  valuable  cicerone  for  one  who  travels  for 
instruction.  But  I  only  went  to  have  a  pleasant 
time ;  and  in  your  presence  I  should  never  have 
dared  to  pass  my  irreverential  criticism  upon  all 
those  stilted  saints  and  martyrs,  and  they  in 
return  would  not  have  had  the  courage  to  take 
me  into  their  confidence,  and  discourse  with  me 
humanly  and  show  me  their  humorous  as  well 
as  their  official  and  pious  side.  With  your  keen 


The  Cathedral  Tower.  191 

eye  passing  judgment  upon  them,  they  would 
have  been  simply  grave  and  graceful  and — 
decorous."  • 

"  I  was  not  aware,"  replied  Varberg  laughr 
ing,  "  that  my  humble  presence  could  be  so  awe- 
inspinng. 

"  Oh  yes,  Mr.  Varberg,  you  know  you  dis- 
approve of  jokes,  and  even  saints  are  not  always 
deficient  in  humor." 

"  Well,  if  you  say  so.  I  will  try  to  believe 
that  you  are  right.  But  then  you  must  favor 
me  with  a  specimen  of  your  criticism ;  perhaps 
I  am  not  so  lacking  in  appreciation  as  you  think. 
What  is  your  opinion,  say,  of  the  Holbein 
Madonna?" 

u  Well,  she  is  not  humorous,  I  admit.  But  I 
read  more  of  motherly  sadness  than  of  motherly 
pride  in  her  countenance.  That  sickly  looking 
child  evidently  belongs  to  those  homely,  Dutchy 
looking  Burgomaster  folks  who  are  kneeling  in 
the  foreground.  The  prim  apostles  of  Raphael 
and  his  clique,  with  their  graceful  attitudes  and 
their  faultless  draperies,  I  enjoyed  thoroughly.  I 
imagined  myself  running  a  pin  into  their  arms 
or  tumbling  theit  curls,  and  I  wondered  if  they 


192        A  Norseman's  Pilgrimage. 

would  then  know  how  to  preserve  their  studied 
dignity.  The  roasting  saints  of  Ribera  and 
Velasquez  I  also  grew  very  fond  of,  and  as  for 
the  Dutch  nymphs,  and  fawns,  and  peasants, 
their  humor  is  as  broad  as  the  daylight,  and 
there  is  no  need  of  straining  the  interpretation." 

"  If  you  have  nothing  worse  to  report,"  said 
he,  "  then  on  my  own  account,  I  sincerely  regret 
my  absence.  You  might  have  taught  me  many 
a  useful  lesson,  and  opened  my  eyes  to  things 
which  I  should  never  have  discovered  of  my  own 
accord." 

"  Oh,  no,  I  should  only  have  horrified  you 
by  admiring  the  wrong  thing,  and  I  should  have 
lost  fifty  per  cent,  in  your  estimation." 

Mrs.  Elder  and  Dearie  now  related  their 
experiences,  and  the  conversation  took  another 
turn.  After  half  an  hour's  talk,  Varberg  invited 
the  ladies  to  accompany  him  on  a  walk  through 
the  city;  but  Dearie  declared  she  could  not 
leave  her  aunt,  and  so  the  end  of  it  was  that 
Ruth  and  Varberg  went  alone. 

Strasbourg,  even  in  its  gayest  holiday  attire, 
wears  an  aspect  of  idyllic  drowsiness.  It  is  not 
an  aspiring  city.  All  its  grandeur  lies  in  the 


The  Cathedral  Tower.  193 

past;  it  wears  upon  its  brow  an  habitual  air 
of  mystery,  and  its  romantic  suggestiveness 
will  yield  to  the  gentlest  touch  of  fancy ;  and 
then  it  lapses  into  a  profound  reverie,  from 
which  not  even  the  rough  voice  of  the  nine- 
teenth century  can  rouse  it.  This  was  in  brief 
the  substance  of  Varberg's  remarks,  as  he  walked 
with  Ruth  through  the  narrow  street  which  leads 
from  the  Kleber  Platz  up  to  the  Cathedral.  She 
listened  for  awhile  patiently,  but  at  last  she 
looked  almost  imploringly  at  him  and  said,  "  Now 
please,  don't  let  us  be  profound.  You  take  a 
peculiar  pleasure  in  going  beyond  my  depth, 
but  this  time  I  shan't  let  you.  By  the  way,  do 
you  remember  the  young  lady  with  the  yellow 
hair  whom  I  told  you  to  talk  nonsense  to  at  the 
ball  in  Leipsic." 

"  Of  course  I  remember  her." 

"  Well,  that  time  you  succeeded  admirably. 
She  confessed  to  me  the  next  day  that  she 
thought  you  were  the  brightest  man  she  had 
ever  met  with.  In  fact,  she  was  half  in  love 
with  you.  I  know  it  is  unkind  in  me  to  tell  you 
of  it,  but  you  will  probably  never  see  her  again, 
so  it  makes  no  difference,  Now,  why  do  you 


194        A  Norsemaris  Pilgrimage. 

reserve  all  your  brightness  for  others,  and  vent 
all  your  learning  on  poor  me  ?  " 

"  Miss  Ruth,  you  are  incorrigible,"  he  broke 
forth,  looking  pleased  rather  in  spite  of  himself. 
"  You  needn't  say,  however,  that  I  am  going  be- 
yond your  depth,  for  your  own  answers  contra- 
dict you.  I  might  rather  turn  your  accusation 
Against  yourself.  I  never  know  what  you  are 
going  to  do  or  say  next.  Indeed,  you  are  a  per- 
petual puzzle  to  me." 

"  Then  you  ought  to  feel  thankful,  Mr.  Var- 
berg,"  retorted  she  with  that  arch  look  of  hers, 
"  that  you  have  at  last  found  something  which 
you  don't  understand." 

"To  understand  a  woman,  and  especially  you  ! 
What  a  presumption  !  I  should  as  soon  under- 
take to  square  the  circle." 

"  That  is  well  enough  to  say,"  she  answered. 
"  But  apropos  of  Strasbourg :  you  have  praised 
this  city  so  much  that  I  feel  like  abusing  it.  Tell 
me,  would  you  really  like  to  live  here  ?  Don't 
you  think  that  everything  looks  insufferably 
sleepy  ?  " 

"  What  you  call  sleepiness  is  the  very  thing 
which  delights  me.  This  vague  mediaeval  gla- 


TJie  Cathedral  Tower.  195 

mour  which  still  hangs  brooding  over  this  colos- 
sal tomb  of  history  softens  the  voice  and  muffles 
the  footfall  of  the  noisy  life  of  to-day — " 

"  Wait  one  moment  !  "  cried  Ruth.  "  You 
are  scattering  pearls  to  the  winds.  Wait,  till  I 
can  get  my  note-book." 

"Only  look  at  our  own  cities,"  continued 
Varberg,  without  heeding  the  interruption,  "  and 
the  contrast  cannot  but  strike  you.  Take,  for 
instance,  New  York,  or  even  your  much  cherished 
Boston,  and  artistically  speaking,  what  is  there 
to  it  ?  A  rigidly  formal,  monotonous  heap  of 
brick  and  mortar,  pitilessly  new,  glaringly  angu- 
lar, wide  awake,  and  unrelieved  by  any  sugges- 
tion of  sentiment,  poetry,  or  romance." 

"  What  an  outrage  !  "  exclaimed  she,  and 
stopped  abruptly  in  the  street.  "  Remember,  I 
was  born  in  Boston,  and  am  as  loyal  to  my  coun- 
try as  you  are  to  Strasbourg.  If  a  man  could 
live  on  picturesqueness,  I  should  find  it  reason- 
able enough  that  you  prefer  this  musty  old  nest 
to  a  bright,  wide-awake  New  England  town.  If 
I  were  the  magistrate  of  Strasbourg,"  she  added 
jocosely,  "  I  think  I  should  order  a  semi-annual 
bombardment  onty  to  rouse  the  inhabitants  from 


196       A  Norseman's  Pilgrimage. 

their  torpor.  With  us  we  have  at  least  an  occa- 
sional murder,  or  an  elopement,  or  at  all  events, 
a  run-away  team,  to  enliven  the  public  sentiment ; 
but  it  seems  that  even  the  horses  here  are  too 
decorous  to  indulge  in  any  sort  of  frivolity." 

They  stood  on  the  square  before  the  cathe- 
dral, and  the  combative  spirit  died  out  in  the 
minds  of  both.  It  seemed  no  longer  the  same 
church  they  had  seen  in  the  morning.  In  the 
broad  light  of  the  noon  it  wore  an  air  of  epic 
grandeur  and  repose  ;  now  the  intenser  mood  of 
the  evening  had  quickened  its  stone  pulses  with  a 
new  life,  and  with  grand  lyrical  impulse  the  huge 
labyrinthine  texture  of  arch,  buttress,  and  tracery 
started  up  into  the  red,  faintly-flushed  sky.  The 
colossal  facade,  bathed  in  the  deep-tinged  gold 
of  the  late  sun,  lent  by  its  contrast  a  touch  of 
terror  to  the  massive  gloom  which  filled  the  re- 
cesses of  the  eastern  buttresses. 

"  That  man's  name  was  not  'writ  in  water,' " 
remarked  Ruth,  "  who  built  this  church  as  an 
epitaph  on  himself." 

"  It  is  not  the  epitaph  of  a  man,"  replied  Var- 
berg,  "  but  the  monument  of  ten  generations." 

"  What  a  pity  that  the  south  tower  is  wanting, 


The  Cathedral  Tower.  197 

and  that  the  present  spire,  somehow  or  other, 
refuses  to  carry  out  the  noble  purpose  of  the 
facade.  That  florid  and  fantastic  style  of  the 
fifteenth  century — " 

His  features  must  have  betrayed  his  astonish- 
ment, and  Ruth,  seeing  his  comically  perplexed 
look,  could  no  longer  retain  her  composure,  but 
burst  out  into  ringing  laughter. 

"  Oh,"  she  cried,  "  you  are  the  easiest  man  to 
impose  upon  that  I  ever  knew.  I  read  it  all  in 
Baedeker  this  morning,  and  I  thought  I  would 
like  to  try  it  on  you,  just  to  see  how  you  would 
take  it." 

"  Well,  and  what  is  the  result  of  your  experi- 
ment? "  asked  Varberg,  joining  in  her  laughter, 
because  he  felt  that  it  was  expected  of  him. 
"  However,  next  time  when  you  may  wish  to 
impose  upon  me,  I  should  advise  you  to  choose  a 
less  accessible  source  than  Baedeker." 

"  Now,  don't  be  exasperating,  if  you  please ; " 
and  Ruth,  as  if  quite  by  accident,  laid  her  arm 
in  his  and  looked  up  into  his  face  in  the  most 
bewitching  manner.  What  was  there  in  that 
look  which  chased  the  blood  to  his  cheeks,  and 
made  his  pulses  quicken  ?  "  Did  he  misunder- 


1 98        A  Norseman's  Pilgrimage. 

stand  me?  Is  he  offended  with  me?"  was  all 
it  seemed  to  say  ;  but  to  him  it  carried  a  far  pro- 
founder  meaning.  It  revealed  to  him  his  own 
utter  helplessness  in  the  grasp  of  the  passion 
which  had  so  mercilessly  clutched  at  the  very 
roots  of  his  heart.  He  felt  himself  as  the  vic- 
tim of  some  fatal  destiny,  which  with  cruel  joy 
calmly  frustrated  every  plan  and  purpose  of  his 
life.  And  all  the  while  he  stood  with  a  dis- 
tracted smile  about  his  lips ;  but  his  eyes  were 
sad,  and  a  gathering  gloom  clouded  his  brow. 
The  interrogation  marks  in  Ruth's  eyes  grew 
until  at  last  she  broke  forth  in  a  voice  of  alarm  : 
"  But,  Mr.  Varberg,  you  are  not  really  angry 
with  me,  are  you  ?  " 

"Ah,  Miss  Ruth,"  he  murmured  vacantly; 
"  I  angry  with  you  ?  I  wish  I  could  be  angry 
with  you.  I  should  be  a  happier  man  if  I  could." 

"  Yes,  I  know  you  like  to  mystify  me,"  she 
answered  musingly;  and  then,  as  if  trying  to 
banish  the  importunate  thought  which  his  words 
suggested,  she  added  in  a  merrier  tone,  "  And 
this  time  I  ought  to  confess  that  you  have  suc- 
ceeded admirably." 

At   this  moment  an  old  French  guide  half 


The  Cathedral  Tomer.  199 

timidly  approached  them,  and  in  a  husky,  sepul- 
chral voice  offered  to  conduct  them  through  the 
church  and  up  into  the  tower.  He  had  a  most 
pathetic  air  of  shabbiness  and  humiliation,  as  if 
he  had  been  doomed  to  bear  upon  his  shoulders 
all  the  burden  and  disgrace  of  the  late  war.  An 
ex-military  coat  of  uncertain  color  hung  loosely 
about  his  limbs,  and  his  moustache  had  a  decided 
shade  of  green,  like  a  certain  kind  of  moss  which 
grows  upon  the  branches  of  the  pine.  Indeed, 
as  Ruth  remarked,  he  was  a  most  pathetic  char- 
acter, and  she  was  at  once  prepossessed  in  his 
favor.  As  they  passed  under  the  wide  portal,  he 
began  to  tefl  them  the  old  story  of  Erwin  of 
Steinbach,  the  architect  of  the  facade,  and  his 
lovely  daughter  Sabina;  but  Ruth  interrupted 
him,  saying  that  she  knew  as  much  about  them 
as  he  did.  The  disconcerted  guide  then  humbly 
called  their  attention  to  the  carved  stone  statues 
which  adorned  the  niches  of  the  side  portals. 

"  It  is  the  twelve  foolish  virgins,"  he  said. 

"The  twelve  foolish  virgins!"  exclaimed 
Ruth.  "Were  they  all  twelve  foolish?  Be- 
sides, I  did  not  know  that  there  were  more  than 
ten  of  them. 


2OO       A  Norseman's  Pilgrimage. 

"  The  twelve  foolish  virgins,"  repeated  the 
guide  meekly. 

"  That  man  is  a  genuine  pessimist,"  said  she, 
in  English,  turning  to  Varberg.  "  He  has  even 
less  confidence  in  the  sex  than  you  have.  He 
must  have  been  cruelly  jilted." 

"  I  should  call  that  rather  a  rash  conclusion," 
answered  he.  "  You  think,  then,  that  pessimism 
is  the  natural  result  of  blighted  hopes." 

"  Usually  it  is.  And  still  I  do  not  deny  that 
there  are  those  who  are  born  pessimists." 

They  entered  the  church  and  walked  up  the 
full  length  of  the  nave,  to  a  side  chapel  where  a 
tonsured  priest  had  gathered  a  small  flock  of  the 
faithful,  to  whom  he  was  delivering  a  half- 
humorous  discourse  on  the  life  and  character  of 
St.  Joseph.  This  man  of  God  had  been  neg- 
lected of  late,  he  said,  but  it  was  a  great 
mistake ;  for  he  was  a  most  helpful  and  efficient 
saint. 

There  is  at  all  times  a  potent  fascination 
about  these  miracles  in  stone,  which  we  call 
Gothic  cathedrals.  But  on  a  summer  night, 
when  the  sun,  in  its  downward  course,  pours  a 
quivering  stream  of  splendor  through  the  win- 


The  Cathedral  Tower.  201 

dows  of  combined  amethyst,  topaz,  and  rose, 
when  the  air  burns  with  all  the  deepest  tinges 
of  a  tenfold  intensified  rainbow,  and  the  gloom, 
with  a  dim  suffusion  of  color,  hovers  indistinctly 
remote  under  the  arched  vaults  overhead,  then 
nature  finishes  in  its  own  perfect  spirit  what  the 
builders  have  left  undone,  and  effaces  the  boun- 
dary line  between  the  human  and  the  divine. 

"  Somebody  has  said  that  the  Gothic  ar- 
chitecture is  a  divine  revelation,"  whispered 
Ruth  as,  leaning  on  Varberg's  arm,  she  moved 
down  the  south  aisle.  "  Do  you  remember  who 
said  it  ?  " 

"  I  think  it  is  Ruskin." 

"  To  be  sure,  so  it  is.  I  think  I  now  under- 
stand what  he  means.  I  admit  too  that  on  our 
side  of  the  ocean  we  don't  know  what  a  church 
is.  Our  domestic  little  coops,  with  carpeted 
floor  and  a  velvet-cushioned  sofa  for  the  minister 
to  sprawl  on,  may  do  well  enough  for  a  social 
chat  and  a  tea  meeting,  but  they  are  hardly  fit 
for  worship.  A  place  like  this  doesn't  invite  to 
familiarity.  A  tea-meeting  here  would  strike 
even  the  rigidest  Down  East  Puritan  as  absurdly 
incongruous,  if  n'ot  sacrilegious." 
9* 


2O2        A  Norseman's  Pilgrimage. 

"  I  suppose  our  churches  are  the  logical 
results  of  our  republicanism,"  answered  Varberg. 
"  We  like  to  be  on  familiar  terms  with  God  as 
with  every  one  else." 

"  Perhaps,"  murmured  Ruth  absently,  and 
gazed  up  to  the  great  sun-illumined  windows. 
Heavy  drops  of  deep  crimson,  blue,  and  golden 
light  grazed  the  clustered  shafts  of  the  columns, 
thrilling  the  dead  stone  into  a  brief  blush  of 
life. 

"How  beautiful,"  said  she,  "  and  still  how 
sad  !  I  should  turn  Catholic  within  a  year,  if  I 
were  doomed  to  visit  this  church  daily.' * 

The  guide  ventured  to  remind  them,  that  if 
they  wished  to  visit  the  tower,  there  was  no 
time  to  be  lost.  At  Varberg's  suggestion,  a  little 
sallow-faced  sacristan  opened  a  small  door  in  the 
transept,  and  let  them  out  only  a  few  steps  from 
the  entrance  to  the  tower.  The  ascent  was 
rather  a  laborious  one,  and  before  they  had 
mounted  the  three  hundred  and  thirtieth  step, 
Ruth  had  at  least  ten  times  regretted  her  rash 
resolution  into  which,  as  she  insisted,  her  friend 
had  craftily  beguiled  her.  Although  he  knew 
himself  innocent  of  any  such  intent,  he  had  had 


The  Cathedral  Tower.  203 

too  long  an  experience  to  think  of  contradicting 
her ;  he  only  rendered  her  every  possible  assist- 
ance, reflecting  all  the  while  that  the  very  help- 
lessness of  a  beautiful  woman  makes  her  tenfold 
dear  and  lovable.  Having  inspected  the  great 
bell,  and  borrowed  a  stool  at  the  warden's  lodge, 
they  hastened  out  on  the  platform ;  then  as  by 
a  common  impulse  came  to  a  sudden  stop,  and 
let  their  eyes  range  out  over  the  magnificent 
landscape,  spread  out  before  them. 

"  Isn't  it  grand  ?  "  exlaimed  Ruth  ecstatically. 

"If  I  only  could  forgive  myself,"  began  Var- 
berg,  with  a  malicious  twinkle  in  his  eye,  "  for 
beguiling  you — " 

"  Now  don't  be  preposterous,"  she  demanded 
imperiously ;  and  as  if  it  were  he  who  had  made 
a  martyr  of  himself,  she  turned  a  beaming  coun- 
tenance upon  him,  and  added  triumphantly, 
M  Now  don't  you  feel  paid  for  your  trouble  ?  " 

"Yes,**  he  added,  hardly  able  to  restrain  his 
laughter, "  I  feel  under  infinite  obligation  to  you." 

"  Oh,"  she  cried,  with  an  impatient  toss  of 
her  head,  "  how  provoking  you  can  be!  " 

He  placed  the  stool  near  the  railing  on  the 
unfinished  southern  tower,  and  she  sat  down. 


2O4        A  Norseman^  Pilgrimage. 

Eastward  toward  Germany,  the  Black  Forest  re- 
gion, made  immortal  by  Auerbach's  tales,  lay 
steeped  in  purple  gloom,  and  the  broad  plains 
of  Lorraine  glowed  with  the  warm  hazy  light  of 
the  evening.  Toward  the  north  and  west  the 
chain  of  the  Vosges  stood  dimly  blue  and  ethe- 
real, and  closing  the  view  toward  the  south, 
the  sun-flushed  peaks  of  the  Jura  traced  them- 
selves faintly  upon  the  far  horizon,  glimmer- 
ing with  the  airiest  tints  of  delicate  crimson  and 
rose.  On  the  square  below,  men  moved  about 
like  little  black  spots,  and  the  sombre,  steep- 
roofed  houses,  with  the  stork's  nest  under  the 
masoned  chimney,  sent  forth  feeble  columns  of 
smoke  which  rose  lazily  and  vanished  into  the 
thin  air.  Varberg  read  with  the  profoundest 
reverence  the  name  of  Goethe,  carved  by  the 
poet  himself  in  the  stone  while  he  was  a  student 
in  the  University  of  Strasbourg.  Ruth  as  usual 
could  not  summon  any  sentiment  at  the  sight  of 
that  name,  and  remained  provokingly  cold  while 
her  companion  improvised  a  little  eulogy. 

"  Tell  me,  Miss  Ruth,"  he  said  at  last,  "  what 
is  your  reason  for  disliking  Goethe  so  much  ?  " 


The  CatJiedral  Tower.  205 

"Well,"  she  answered  emphatically,  "he 
wasn't  a  good  man." 

Now  Varberg  had  not  forgotten  that  hardly 
three  weeks  ago  Ruth  had  declared  to  him  that 
she  hated  good  young  men,  and  he  was  greatly 
tempted  to  remind  her  of  it;  but  he  had  long 
ago  ceased  to  wonder  at  the  contradictions  in 
her  character;  he  merely  accepted  them  as 
psychological  facts,  which  he  stored  in  his  mind 
for  future  use.  Goethe  had  done  the  same,  and 
very  likely  that  was  the  very  reason  why  she 
hated  him. 

"  Goethe  was  not  a  good  man,"  remarked  Olaf, 
"  and  therefore  you  dislike  him  as  an  author." 

"  Of  course,"  she  replied,  with  an  air  as  if 
that  was  the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world. 

The  setting  sun  now  kindled  the  western  sky 
with  a  great  blaze  of  color ;  the  windows  of  the 
houses  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  square  burned 
with  its  fiery  reflection,  and  the  huge  shadow 
of  the  cathedral,  visibly  lengthening,  moved 
slowly  eastward  shrouding  the  street  in  deep- 
ening glamour.  Varberg  seated  himself  on  the 
battlement  of  the  tower,  and  while  Ruth  was 
apparently  absorbed  in  the  sunset,  stole  frequent 


206        A  Norseman's  Pilgrimage. 

glimpses  of  her  fair  young  features.  They  both 
yielded  to  the  magic  of  the  situation,  and  uncon- 
sciously lapsed  into  silence.  The  strangeness  of 
the  scene — the  vast  stillness,  and  the  deep-toned 
richness  of  the  evening — imperceptibly  wrought 
upon  their  senses  and  soothed  the  noisier  im- 
pulses of  their  hearts  ;  a  feeling  of  sympathy  and 
mutual  understanding  stole  over  them  ;  their 
eyes  met  with  a  quick  response,  and  a  smile, 
more  eloquent  than  words,  reassured  both  that 
the  last  film  of  the  cloud  which  had  during  the 
day  had  been  hovering  between  them  was  at 
length  dispersed.  Thus  it  happened  that  in 
those  brief  moments  he  dared  to  face  the  reso- 
lution which  in  spite  of  misgivings,  counterplots, 
and  his  own  wish  to  the  contrary,  he  had 
dimly  foreseen  as  the  inevitable  end  of  their 
acquaintance.  "  It  is  no  whim  or  fancy,"  he 
said  to  himself;  "it  is  a  passion,  interwoven 
with  the  very  fibres  of  my  soul.  It  is  useless 
to  strive  against  the  current."  And  with  a 
composure  which  would  have  appeared  pre- 
posterous to  himself,  had  he  thought  of  view- 
ing it  objectively,  he  matured  step  by  step  the 
later  movements  of  the  campaign,  and  weighed 


TJte  Cathedral  Tower.  207 

the  chances  of  failure  or  success  as  coolly  as  if  it 
had  been  the  fate  of  some  helpless  stranger 
which  had  been  submitted  to  his  disinterested 
decision.  He  would  not  propose  to  Ruth  at 
once,  partly  because  he  wished  to  gain  time, 
partly  because  he  was  by  no  means  convinced 
that  she  loved  him.  Indeed,  it  seemed  such  an 
absurd  thing  that  any  woman  should  love  him, 
that  he  was  more  likely  to  reach  a  negative  con- 
clusion. In  the  meanwhile  he  would  try  to 
induce  her  to  pay  a  visit  to  Norway,  then  invite 
her  to  spend  a  month  or  so  in  his  grandfather's 
house,  and  if  their  relation  continued  to  develop 
in  the  same  direction  as  heretofore,  the  climax 
would  be  inevitable.  But  what  could  Ruth  be 
thinking  about,  as  she  sat  there,  smiling  to  her- 
self with  that  look  of  profound  abstraction  in  her 
eyes?  Evidently  the  sunset  was  no  longer  occu- 
pying her  attention.  Perhaps  she  involuntarily 
answered  this  mental  question  by  the  remark 
she  made. 

"  After  all,  I  think  you  are  a  very  good 
American,  Mr.  Varberg,"  she  said,  as  if  taking 
up  the  thread  of  a  conversation  dropped  only 
a  minute  before.  "  In  spite  of  all  your  admiration 


208        A  Norseman? s  Pilgrimage. 

of  the  old  world,  you  show  plainly  that  in  your 
heart  of  hearts  your  sympathy  is  with  the  new." 

"  To  my  mind,  Miss  Ruth,"  he  answered  with 
an  energy  which  startled  her,  "  the  new  world 
means  you,  and  what  a  truism  it  would  be  to 
say  that  in  th'is  acceptation  the  new  world  is 
dearer  to  me  than  the  old." 

He  hardly  realized  that  he  was  on  the  verge 
of  a  declaration  ;  but  Ruth  felt  it,  and  she  grew 
visibly  uneasy.  With  a  sudden  jerk  she  thrust 
the  end  of  her  parasol  into  a  little  hole  in  the 
battlement,  and  began  assiduously  to  dig  out 
the  gravel ;  then  she  discovered  some  object 
down  on  the  square  which  for  the  moment 
absorbed  all  her  attention. 

"  What  a  queer  bird  the  stork  is,"  she  said 
at  last,  with  a  cheery  unconcern,  which  would 
have  been  a  death-blow  to  his  hopes  had  it 
not  contrasted  so  absurdly  with  the  agitation  of 
her  manner.  Had  she  known,  however,  the 
association  of  ideas  in  his  mind,  she  would 
hardly  have  made  that  remark  about  the  stork. 
His  knowledge  of  that  bird  had  been  derived 
from  Hans  Christian  Andersen's  stories. 

"  Yes,"  he  replied,  after  a  moment's  hesita- 


The  Cathedral  Tower.  209 

tion,  "  the  stork  is  a  queer  bird.  It  is  the  bird 
of  happiness." 

"The  bird  of  happiness,"  she  murmured, 
gazing  vacantly  out  into  the  blue  space. 

"  Pardon  me,  monsieur"  said  a  creaking  voice 
close  to  Varberg's  ear ;  "  but  it  9  time  to  close 
the  church."  There  stood  the  shabby  little 
guide,  with  his  cap  in  his  hand,  and  smiled  and 
bowed  deferentially.  Ruth  and  Varberg  rose, 
gave  one  long  look  of  farewell  to  the  magnificent 
landscape,  and  began  their  descent  in  silence. 
Having  reached  the  street,  they  dismissed  the 
guide,  who  gave  them  as  a  souvenir  a  picture 
of  four  pigs,  which,  when  folded  up,  represented 
the  likeness  of  the  third  Napoleon. 

"  You  are  evidently  not  an  admirer  of  the 
ex-Emperor,"  remarked  Varberg. 

"The  Emperor?  God  bless  him!"  replied 
the  old  man  pathetically.  "The  other  guides 
all  have  this  picture,  and  I  must  do  what  the 
rest  do.  Monsieur"  he  added  in  a  tone  of  inex- 
pressible sadness,  "  I  was  born  in  this  city,  and 
I  have  not  the  money  to  go  away."  And  he 
wagged  his  head  and  shuffled  along,  while  the 


2io       A  Norseman's  Pilgrimage. 

wooden  heels  of  his  shoes  clattered  mournfully 
against  the  pavement. 

They  had  intended  to  go  directly  to  the 
hotel,  but  for  some  reason  or  other  they  did  not 
do  it.  For  more  than  an  hour  they  wandered 
about  on  the  «amparts  of  the  city,  conscious  all 
the  while  of  a  latent  excitement  which,  as  they 
half  expected,  might  at  any  moment  break  the 
frail  bonds  of  conventionalism.  Ruth  was  not 
at  all  sure  that  she  desired  it ;  perhaps  if  she 
had  put  the  question  boldly  to  herself,  she 
would  have  decided  that  she  positively  dreaded 
it.  But  she  was  enough  of  a  woman  to  love 
excitement  for  its  own  sake ;  and  as  she  did  not 
feel  it  incumbent  upon  her  to  solve  the  problem 
one  way  or  the  other,  she  simply  yielded  to  the 
fascination  which  the  very  uncertainty  exerted 
over  her,  and  allowed  herself  to  drift  onward 
with  the  fluctuating  emotions  of  the  moment, 
regardless  of  whither  they  carried  her.  In  fact, 
they  were  both  in  that  delightfully  impersonal 
mood  which  men  are  too  apt  to  indulge  when 
in  novel  or  absurd  situations.  Varberg,  in  the 
meanwhile,  had  framed  at  least  twenty  res- 
olutions in  regard  to  the  decisive  question  of 


The  Cathedral  Tower.  211 

Ruth's  visit  to  Norway ;  but  he  felt  that  much 
depended  upon  the  shape  in  which  it  was  put, 
and  although  an  accomplished  linguist,  he  could 
find  no  phrase  worthy  of  embodying  so  serious  a 
sentiment.  It  was  after  nine  o'clock  when  they 
reached  her  hotel,  and  he  had  not  yet  spoken. 
He  accompanied  her  through  the  vestibule  to 
the  foot  of  the  staircase,  where  with  fluttering 
hearts,  they  both  paused  and  gazed  expectantly 
into  each  other's  faces. 

"  Miss  Ruth,"  he  said  at  last,  holding  her 
hand  in  his,  "  I  have  one  thing  to  ask  of  you. 
Will  you  come  and  visit  my  home  this  summer, 
and  take  Mrs.  Elder  and  Dearie  with  you  ?  My 
grandparents  and  all  of  us  would  be  so  happy  to 
see  you." 

She  hesitated,  dropped  her  eyes,  and  again 
suddenly  raising  them,  she  said  firmly,  "  I  will." 

"  Is  it  a  promise?" 

"  It  is."  And  she  quickly  withdrew  her  hand 
and  ran  up  stairs. 

The  next  morning  Varberg  took  the  train 
for  Paris.  Four  days  later  he  landed  in  London, 
and  within  a  week  "boarded  the  steamer  which 
was  to  carry  him  t6  the  land  of  his  birth. 


212        A  Norseman's  Pilgrimage. 

CHAPTER   XII. 
The  Land  of  the  Vikings. 

T  T  was  in  the  last  days  of  July.  Olaf  had 
-*-  hastened  away  from  Bergen,  where  the  Eng- 
lish boat  had  landed  him,  had  boarded  a  Nor- 
wegian steamer,  and  saw  now  from  afar  the  blue 
snow-peaked  mountains  which  guarded  the  en- 
trance to  the  valley  of  his  birth.  The  sky  was 
one  vast  unruffled  calm,  the  water  glittered  with 
cool  green  and  emerald  reflections,  and  overhead 
and  far  down  in  the  deep  the  white  clouds 
floated  airily  through  a  limitless  expanse  of  blue. 
The  young  exile  stood  in  the  prow  of  the 
steamer,  and  his  heart  throbbed  as  if  it  longed 
to  burst  his  bosom.  His  senses  were  keenly 
awake ;  every  passing  object,  every  fresh  memory 
traced  its  impressions  clearly  upon  his  mind, 
and  produced  a  quick  succession  of  varying 
emotions.  It  was  as  if  this  pure,  bracing  moun- 
tain air  had  penetrated  into  his  very  soul,  and 


The  Land  of  ike  Vikings.        213 

was  stimulating  the  slumbering  energies  of  his 
nature.  And  still — he  could  not  but  own  it — he 
was  no  longer  that  fresh,  trusting,  primitive 
youth  who,  five  years  ago,  started  out  from  his 
mountain  home  to  conquer  an  unknown  happiness 
in  the  world  beyond  the  sea.  Would  he  now  be 
capable  of  making  the  sacrifice  to  which  he  had 
then  so  cheerfully  submitted  ?  He  knew  that  he 
would  not.  Even  at  this  moment  he  feared  that 
the  emotion  he  experienced  was  half  spurious ; 
he  had  never  been  more  bewilderingly  conscious 
of  the  duality  of  his  nature,  and  the  contrast 
between  the  warm-blooded  impetuosity  of  the 
youth  who  departed  and  the  more  consciously 
self-critical  mood  of  the  man  who  returned,  was 
not  altogether  imaginary.  During  these  many 
years  spent  among  strangers,  he  had  had  no 
experiences  which  had  really  stirred  the  depths 
of  his  heart,  and  he  had  accordingly  imagined 
that  he  had  lost  the  power  of  loving.  Then 
came  Ruth  with  all  the  wealth  of  her  deep, 
womanly  nature,  which  she  shielded  beneath 
the  appearance  of  light-hearted  skepticism  and 
caprice ;  in  her  he  had,  as  she  herself  expressed 
it,  found  something  which  he  did  not  understand, 


214       -^  Norsemaris  Pilgrimage. 

and  after  having  vainly  striven  to  reduce  her  to 
logic,  he  had  abandoned  the  attempt  and  loved 
her  instead. 

"  Would  she  understand  this  Norseland  home 
of  mine?  "  he  asked  himself;  "  would  she  love  it 
as  I  do  ?  " 

The  steamer  now  cleared  a  steep  headland ; 
Varberg  held  his  breath,  then  gave  a  shout,  and 
sprang  up  on  the  bridge.  There,  on  the  green 
slope,  close  to  the  water,  a  white,  stately  man- 
sion peeped  forth  from  behind  its  dense  screen 
of  foliage,  and  beckoned  to  him  with  a  grave, 
familiar  eye  of  gentle  reproach  and  welcome. 
As  soon  as  the  steamer  came  into  view,  a  large 
flag  flew  up  on  the  flag-pole  at  the  point  of  the 
pier,  and  a  row  of  cannon  stationed  along  the 
beach  boomed  forth  a  joyous  salute,  which  rolled 
away  over  the  surface  of  the  water,  and  lost  itself 
in  tumultuous  echoes  among  the  distant  peaks  of 
the  glaciers.  It  revealed  such  a  vast  perspective 
of  sound  as  almost  to  bewilder  the  sense  with  its 
suggestion  of  limitless  space  and  power.  It  was 
to  Varberg  as  if  the  very  mountains  were  calling 
to  him  with  their  granite  voices,  and  sending 
him  from  afar  their  stern  greeting.  They  had 


The  Land  of  the  Vikings.        215 

watched  over  him  from  his  birth  up,  and  had 
sung  their  stormy  lullabies  at  his  cradle ;  the 
ever-watchful  eye  of  their  glaciers  had  witnessed 
his  boyish  sports ;  many  a  silent  summer  night 
the  pine  woods  had  told  him  their  sombre  le- 
gends, and  the  cataracts  in  quivering  whispers 
of  spray  had  confided  to  him  their  tenderest 
memories.  Now,  in  one  quick  flash,  his  whole 
past  life  spread  out  before  him,  and  he  saw,  per- 
haps for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  what  he  had 
renounced. 

The  steam  whistle  sounded  thrice,  and  a 
white-painted  shallop  (the  same  shallop  which 
once  he  had  called  his  own)  was  thrust  out  from 
the  pier.  In  the  stern  stood  an  old  gray-haired 
man,  and  close  to  him  sat  a  young  girl  with  a  light 
straw  hat  on  her  head,  and  a  mass  of  blonde 
hair.  There  were  two  stalwart  men  at  the  oars, 
and  the  young  lady  held  the  tiller.  It  needed 
but  a  glance  to  convince  Olaf  that  it  was  his  old 
grandfather  and  Brynhild,  his  sister.  The  boat 
glided  swiftly  out  over  the  glittering  mirror  of 
the  fjord,  the  gentle  ripple  about  its  bow  undu- 
lated in  long,  diverging  lines  over  the  glassy  sur- 
face, and  every  stroke  of  the  oar  sent  little  throngs 


216        A  Norseman's  Pilgrimage. 

of  eddying  bubbles  floating  shoreward  in  its  wake. 
Olaf  stood  intently  watching  all  this,  and  it  ap- 
peared to  him  like  some  magnificent  chapter  in  a 
book,  very  beautiful,  but  absurdly  unreal.  He 
also  noticed  that  red  and  white  streamers  were 
flying  from  the  gables  of  the  mansion,  and  that 
handkerchiefs  were  waving  to  him  from  the  bal- 
cony, from  the  windows,  and  from  the  boat.  The 
whistle  sounded  for  the  third  time,  the  engine 
rumbled,  and  the  wheels  plashed  and  beat  the 
water  into  a  mass  of  seething  foam.  He  then 
suddenly  remembered  where  he  was,  tore  off 
his  hat,  and  waved  his  pocket-handkerchief.  The 
gangway  was  lowered,  and  his  grandfather,  fol- 
lowed by  Brynhild,  sprang  up  the  steps  as  if  he 
had  been  a  youth  of  twenty.  Olaf  leaped  down 
from  the  bridge ;  then  there  was  a  scream,  and 
the  young  girl  flung  her  arms  about  his  neck,  and 
laughed  and  shed  tears  in  an  altogether  irrational 
manner.  He  kissed  her,  but  could  not  think  of 
a  word  to  say ;  then  gently  released  himself  and 
grasped  the  hand  of  his  grandfather,  who  stood 
gazing  at  him  with  a  look  of  mingled  tenderness 
and  surprise. 

"  My  dear  boy,"  he  broke  forth  in  a  voice 


The  Land  of  tJie  Vikings.        217 

which  trembled  with  emotion,  "  God  be  praised 
that  He  has  given  you  back  to  us  again.  But, 
to  be  sure,  you  have  changed  much." 

"  For  the  worse,  do  you  think,  grandfather  ?  " 
said  Olaf,  summoning  all  the  Norwegian  which 
for  the  moment  was  at  his  command. 

"Yes,  indeed,  for  the  worse,"  cried  Bryn- 
hild,  who  was  still  clinging  to  her  brother's  arm 
and  gazing  at  him  with  moist  wide-opened  eyes ; 
"why  have  you  allowed  your  beard  to  grow? 
You  looked  a  great  deal  better  as  you  were  when 
you  left  home." 

"I  am  sorry  to  hear  it.  However,  I  can 
hardly  myself  be  held  responsible  for  my  looks. 
But  how  is  grandmother?  " 

And  now  followed  a  perfect  torrent  of  ques- 
tions such  as  may  be  more  readily  imagined 
than  told.  The  baggage  was  carried  down  into 
the  boat,  the  smoke-stack  rolled  out  dense 
volumes  of  smoke,  and  the  slender  escape-pipe 
behind  it  sent  forth  an  abrupt,  provoked  shriek, 
and  from  sheer  exhaustion  lapsed  into  silence. 
Olaf  helped  his  sister  down  into  the  shallop,  old 
Mr.  Varberg  followed,  and  the  oarsmen  took 
their  seats  on  the  row  benches.  The  sun  shone 
10 


218       A  Norsemaris  Pilgrimage. 

brightly  and  poured  a  flood  of  splendor  upon 
the  glacier  steeples  ;  the  smooth  waters  sparkled 
as  if  oversown  with  sunny  jewels ;  the  air  was 
•so  inconceivably  pure  and  transparent,  the 
meadows  lay  so  soft  and  green  under  the  brow  of 
the  pine-covered  cliffs,  and  every  hill,  every  glen, 
every  mountain  was  an  old  acquaintance,  and  hid 
in  its  stony  breast  an  ore  of  golden  memories. 
A  sense  of  joy  and  blessedness  thrilled  through 
the  young  man's  frame  ;  he  was  once  more  at 
home,  among  those  who  knew  and  loved  him. 
The  first  feeling  of  bewilderment  had  vanished  ; 
the  author  lay  a  thousand  miles  behind  him  ; 
now  the  moment  asserted  its  right,  and  the  past 
years  of  exile  faded  away  like  the  confused 
phantoms  of  a  dream.  On  the  pier  he  was  met 
by  the  old  servants  of  the  family,  who  all 
thronged  forward  to  shake  hands  with  him  and 
offer  him  their  welcome.  Some  told  him 
that  he  had  grown  tall  and  handsome,  others 
that  he  looked  very  foreign,  and  others  again 
that  he  had  not  changed  at  all. 

"  And  is  this  our  little  Olaf  whom  I  used  to 
rock  in  my  lap  when  he  was  a  baby  ?  "  said  a 
wrinkled  little  woman,  in  whom  he  recognized 
his  old  nurse. 


The  Land  of  the  Vikings.        219 

"  And  do  you  remember  the  time  when  you 
cried  for  a  whole  day,  and  refused  to  eat, 
because  they  had  killed  your  cow  Rosyside?" 
asked  the  family  milkmaid. 

Yes,  he  well  remembered  that ;  and  the 
good  old  soul  was  so  touched  that  she  shed 
tears.  These  and  numerous  other  questions 
were  asked  and  answered,  while  the  company 
moved  up  through  the  garden  to  the  vestibule, 
where  Olafs  grandmother  stood,  impatiently 
awaiting  his  arrival.  She  kissed  and  embraced 
him,  wept  over  him,  and  said  that  now  she 
had  found  him,  and  he  must  never  leave  her 
again.  The  servants  remained  standing  at  the 
foot  of  the  stairs,  the  men  with  their  caps  in 
their  hands,  and  the  women  giving  vent  to  their 
emotion  in  sighs,  and  wiping  their  eyes  with 
their  aprons.  It  was  a  scene  which,  in  its  simple 
impressiveness,  touched  the  homeless  heart  of 
the  young  wanderer.  What  a  contrast  to  the 
great  noisy  world  beyond  the  sea!  With  his 
grandmother  and  his  sister  on  his  arm,  he 
entered  the  great  drawing-room,  with  its  heavy 
red  curtains,  its  strange  tapestries,  and  its  long 
ro\vs  of  ancestral  portraits.  In  the  middle  of  the 


22O        A  Norseman's  Pilgrimage. 

floor  stood  a  large  table,  on  which  wine  and 
home-made  cakes  were  spread  in  liberal  profusion. 
Old  Judge  Varberg  called  the  servants  in,  poured 
wine  into  the  glasses,  and  then  stationed  himself 
solemnly  at  the  head  of  the  table.  He  lifted  his 
glass,  and  all  the  others  followed  his  example ; 
whereupon  he  delivered  a  brief  speech  of  wel- 
come, in  which  he  ingeniously  avoided  every 
allusion  to  the  cause  of  his  grandson's  departure, 
as  well  as  to  the  country  in  which  he  had  spent 
his  years  of  exile.  The  toast  was  drunk,  the 
grandmother  added  her  "  Amen  *'  and  the  ser- 
vants retired,  having  once  more  shaken  hands 
with  the  young  heir  of  the  house. 

It  was  still  early  in  the  forenoon  ;  the  sun- 
shine glided  stealthily  in  between  the  ample  folds 
of  the  window  curtains,  and  lay  in  long  streaks 
and  patches  upon  the  uncarpeted  floor. 

The  austere  ancestors,  with  their  powdered 
wigs  and  pigtails,  their  lace-embroidered  coats 
and  golden-hilted  swords,  looked  solemnly  down 
upon  their  degenerate  descendant,  and  the  prim 
ancestresses,  in  Arcadian  costumes,  and  with 
shepherds'  staves  in  their  hands,  sent  him  mean- 
ing glances  of  reproachful  recognition. 


The  Land  of  tkt  Vikings.         221 

"  If  you  had  lived  in  my  time,  I  should  have 
known  how  to  manage  you,"  the  grand  old  gentle- 
man with  the  gold-headed  cane  seemed  to  say. 
But  the  sweet-faced,  timid  little  lady,  who  had 
once  been  his  wife,  and  whom  Olaf  in  his  boy- 
hood so  often  had  pitied,  gazed  tenderly  at  him, 
as  if  to  say,  "Whatever  you  are,  you  are  my  own 
flesh  and  blood.  If  your  mother  had  been  alive, 
you  would  not  have  found  it  in  your  heart  to 
leave  her." 

If  the  painter  could  be  trusted,  there  must 
have  been  a  singular  disproportion  between  the 
two  as  regards  bodily  stature ;  for  the  old  gentle- 
man, although  standing  upon  the  earth,  leaned 
himself  comfortably  on  the  top  of  a  stone  light- 
house, the  lantern  of  which  shed  a  feeble  glim- 
mer out  upon  the  distant  sea,  while  the  wife, 
whose  waist  was  as  thin  as  that  of  a  wasp,  was 
seated  in  an  easy-chair,  the  back  of  which  loomed 
up  far  above  her  head.  It  was  this  particular 
Varberg  who,  some  three  hundred  years  ago,  had 
obtained  from  the'  Danish  government  a  monopoly 
for  building  light-houses  on  the  western  coast  of 
Norway :  and  after  that,  he  had  lived  like  a  little 
king  in  his  fjord,  sending  out  his  cruisers  along 


222        A  Norseman's  Pilgrimage. 

the  shore,  and  exacting  toll  from  all  passing  ves- 
sels. He  had  had  a  light-house  engraved  on  his 
seal,  and  had  invariably  written  his  name,  "  Var- 
berg  of  the  Light-house."  The  present  Judge 
Varberg,  to  whom  nothing  was  more  precious 
than  the  traditions  of  his  family,  had  scrupulously 
preserved  the  title,  while  Olaf,  to  whom  the 
democratic  convictions  of  his  father  were  no  less 
sacred,  had  persisted  in  ignoring  it. 

But  all  thought  of  past  dissensions  and  dis- 
agreements vanished  from  Olaf  s  mind  as  he  sat 
there  in  the  large,  old-fashioned  sofa,  and  listened 
to  the  anxious  questions  and  tender  assurances 
of  those  who  in  all  the  world  were  nearest  and 
dearest  to  him.  On  his  right  and  left  side  sat 
the  old  people,  holding  his  hands  in  theirs,  and  at 
his  feet  Brynhild  was  seated  on  a  cricket,  gazing 
up  into  his  face  with  large  affectionate  eyes.  Such 
a  feeling  of  rest  and  security  he  had  not  experi- 
enced in  all  his  life,  and  if  it  had  not  been  for 
Ruth,  he  thought,  he  would  have  been  content 
to  forget  all  his  youthful  ambitions,  and  to  live 
and  die  here  in  peace. 

"  But,  my  dear  boy,"  said  the  old  man,  whose 
features  had  assumed  a  look  of  concern  whenever 


The  Land  of  the  Vikings.        223 

Olaf  had  opened  his  mouth  to  speak,  "  you  have 
not  forgotten  your  mother  tongue,  I  hope.  You 
speak  with  English  accent." 

"  I  was  not  aware  of  that,  grandfather,"  an- 
swered Olaf,  "but  you  must  remember  that  I 
have  not  once  had  occasion  to  speak  my  own 
language  during  these  five  years.  It  may  appear 
incomprehensible  to  you,  and  many  would  even 
call  it  affectation;  but  my  daily  experience 
has  taught  me  that  our  language,  being  the 
mere  external  clothing  of  our  thought,  will,  as 
naturally  as  the  thought  itself,  receive  the  im- 
press and  the  coloring  of  the  land  in  which  we 
live.  I.  should,  therefore,  find  it  as  unnatural  to 
speak  Norwegian  in  America  as,  a  week  from 
now,  I  should  call  it  absurd  to  speak  English  here. 
But  something  of  my  American  self  still  clings  to 
me,  and  my  organs  of  speech,  as  well  as  every 
other  part  of  my  being,  will  show  it,  at  least  for 
a  time." 

"  God  forbid  that  it  should  be  of  long  dura- 
tion, my  son,"  retorted  the  Judge  earnestly,  rose 
from  the  sofa,  and  went  out  of  the  room. 

It  now  became  evident  to  Olaf  that  his 
grandparents  intentionally  ignored  that  part  of 


224       A  Norseman's  Pilgrimage. 

his  life  which  he  had  spent  abroad  ;  that  they  were 
as  bitterly  opposed  to  the  land  of  his  adoption 
to-day  as  they  had  been  five  years  ago  ;  and  that 
in  spite  of  his  own  protestations,  they  took  it  for 
granted  that  he  had  now  returned  to  repent  of 
his  wild  career  and  to  settle  down  in  his  home 
for  the  future,  as  a  peaceful,  conservative  citizen. 

They  were  no  doubt  ready  enough  to  for- 
give him,  because,  as  the  Judge  had  previously 
expressed  it,  every  young  man  had  to  sow  his 
wild  oats,  and  this  way  was  probably  no  worse 
than  a  good  many  others.  But  Olaf  did  not 
admit  the  guilt,  and  consequently  asked  no 
forgiveness  ;  nevertheless,  his  discovery  made 
him  very  uncomfortable,  not  only  because  it 
would  debar  him  from  the  comfort  of  real  confi- 
dence, but  perhaps  rather  because  in  the  depth 
of  his  heart  there  lurked  a  half-acknowledged 
inclination  to  listen  to  the  voice  of  prudence,  to 
choke  the  unprofitable  ideals,  to  yield  and 
surrender. 

Olaf's  grandfather  was  a  fine-looking  old 
gentleman  of  middle  stature,  and  about  seventy 
years  of  age.  He  had  a  strong  growth  of  white, 
curly  hair,  a  broad  and  massive  forehead,  and  a 


The  Land  of  the  Vikings.        225 

slightly  aquiline  nose.  The  clear  gaze  of  his 
calm  blue  eyes,  as  well  as  the  firm  lines  about 
his  mouth,  indicated  a  keen  understanding  and 
a  strong  will,  with  perhaps  a  suggestion  of 
obstinacy  ;  but  those  eyes,  which  were  usually  so 
calm  and  clear,  were  a  truly  Protean  feature ; 
for  when  the  old  gentleman  played  his  violon- 
cello, they  seemed  to  grow  deeper,  softer,  and 
tenderer;  and  as  the  music  gathered  strength 
and  burst  forth  in  triumphant  strains  of  joy,  they 
would  shine  and  sparkle  with  singular  brilliancy. 
On  the  whole,  judging  from  his  appearance,  no 
one  would  have  believed  that  Mr.  Varberg  was 
seventy  years  old  ;  his  figure  was  quite  erect, 
and  his  motions  were  youthful  and  vigorous. 
His  wife  was  a  venerable  matron,  tall  and 
robust,  straight  as  a  candle,  and  with  a  certain 
abruptness  in  her  bearing  and  manner.  To  be 
sure,  Time  had  dealt  roughly  with  the  beauty  of 
which  she  had  once  been  so  proud,  and  the 
traces  of  age  were  clearly  legible  upon  her 
wrinkled  brow ;  but  for  all  that  she  was  still  a 
handsome  old  lady,  and  she  did  the  honors  at 
her  parties  with  as  much  dignity  to-day  as  she 
had  done  twenty  years  ago.  It  is  no  rare  thing 
10* 


226       A.  Norsemaris  Pilgrimage. 

to  find  that  people  who  have  lived  in  harmony 
together  for  half  a  century  bear  a  marked 
resemblance  to  each  other ;  at  all  events,  in  the 
case  of  Judge  and  Mrs.  Varberg  the  observation 
had  been  frequently  made.  They  of  course 
laughed  at  it  themselves  as  an  absurdity  ;  but 
even  Olaf  could  not  help  noticing  the  same  mix- 
ture of  determination  and  tenderness  in  the 
features  of  both.  Mrs.  Varberg  invariably  wore 
a  white  lace  cap  with  dark  blue  ribbons  and  a 
black  silk  gown. 

When  dinner  was  over,  and  coffee  had  been 
served,  the  Judge  asked  his  grandson  if  he 
would  not  like  to  take  a  ride  on  horseback,  to 
which  the  latter  willingly  consented.  A  few 
minutes  later  the  horses  were  at  the  door,  and 
the  old  man  appeared  on  the  stairs,  with 
spurs  and  riding  boots.  Olaf,  having  quite 
forgotten  his  grandfather's  little  weaknesses 
thoughtlessly  offered  him  his  hand  to  help  him 
into  the  saddle. 

"  Bah  !  "  cried  the  Judge  in  a  provoked  voice, 
and  gave  the  youth  a  gentle  blow  over  his 
fingers  ;  "  what  do  you  take  me  to  be  ?  Do  you 
think  I  am  in  my  dotage  ?  Only  see  that  you 


The  Land  of  the  Vikings.        227 

get  yourself  safely  into  the  saddle,  and  leave  me 
to  take  care  of  myself.** 

The  Judge  had  always  prided  himself  on  his 
self-dependence,  and  did  not  like  to  be  reminded 
of  his  age.  He  at  times  himself  referred  to  his 
seventy  years,  but  that  was  quite  another 
matter.  He  had  been  very  impatient  with  his 
physician  when,  three  years  ago,  he  had  forbid- 
den him  to  skate.  It  was  all  the  sheerest  non- 
sense, he  said,  but  nevertheless  he  heeded  the 
injunction. 

The  afternoon  was  bright  and  warm;  the 
air  was  soft  and  the  sky  pensively  serene.  The 
breeze  was  fraught  with  the  fragrance  of  birch 
and  wild  flowers,  with  just  a  perceptible  admix- 
ture of  the  briny  breath  of  the  sea.  For  a 
while  they  rode  in  silence  along  the  smooth  road, 
which  usually  followed  the  capricious  curves  of 
the  numerous  bays,  and  at  times  made  a  straight 
cut  across  come  jutting  headland.  Everywhere 
the  broad  slope  from  the  mountains  down  to  the 
fjord  was  carefully  cultivated,  and  green  meadow 
and  pasture  land  alternated  with  waving  fields^ 
well-tended  orchards,  and  stray  patches  of  birch 
and  alder  groves.* 


228        A  Norsemaris  Pilgrimage. 

"This  river,"  said  the  Judge,  pointing  with 
his  riding-whip  to  a  white  torrent  which  dashed 
down  over  a  rocky  incline,  "  separates  my  lands 
from  those  of  our  friend  the  Colonel.  Our  pro- 
perties, if  united,  would  make  the  fairest  estate 
in  the  kingdom." 

Olaf  had  nothing  to  say  to  this,  but  he  grew 
very  hot  about  his  ears,  and  felt  exceedingly 
uncomfortable.  His  grandfather's  eyes  rested 
so  steadily  on  him,  and  he  was  aware  that  much 
depended  upon  the  way  he  answered.  Suddenly 
a  bright  idea  struck  him. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  straightening  himself  up  in 
the  saddle ;  "  it  would  make  a  very  fine  estate 
indeed.  What  a  pity  that  the  Colonel  has  not 
a  son,  who  might  have  married  Brynhild.  That 
is,  as  far  as  I  can  see,  the  only  way  in  which 
your  wish  might  be  accomplished." 

The  old  man's  countenance  fell ;  but  he 
knew  that  it  would  not  be  prudent  to  push  the 
matter  for  the  present.  So  he  spurred  his 
horse ;  Olaf  followed  his  example,  and  they  gal- 
loped on  to  the  bridge. 

"  This  bridge,"  began  the  Judge,  as  the  hoof- 
beats  of  the  horses  clattered  along  the  stone 


The  Land  of  the  Vikings.        229 

pavement,  "  was  built  by  my  great-grandfather, 
Olaf  Varberg,  who  died  in  the  year  1681.  And 
the  structure  is  just  as  good  to-day  as  it  was  two 
hundred  years  ago." 

"  Yes,  it  appears  to  be  an  exceedingly  well- 
built  structure,"  remarked  Olaf  approvingly. 

Five  minutes  later  they  drew  rein  at  the  gate 
of  a  large  buff-colored  mansion,  which  was  half 
hid  behind  a  cluster  of  huge  chestnut  trees. 

"  If  you  have  no  objection,  why  not  go  in 
and  call  upon  your  old  friend  the  Colonel  ?  "  said 
the  Judge  quite  en  passant,  as  if  the  thing  had 
just  occurred  to  him  in  the  moment. 

"  Aha,"  thought  Olaf;  "that  was  what  the 
ride  was  for.  The  trap  was  skilfully  laid,  but 
the  game  is  too  old  to  be  caught."  And  in  an- 
swer to  the  question  he  added  aloud,  "  I  have 
no  objection.  It  makes  no  difference  to  me 
whether  I  call  on  the  Colonel  to-day  or  some 
other  time,  since  the  call  has  to  be  made." 

They  rode  into  the  yard,  where  a  footman 
came  to  take  charge  of  the  horses.  Another 
servant  showed  them  into  the  parlor,  where  the 
old  Colonel  sat  enveloped  in  a  cloud  of  tobacco 


230       A  Norseman's  Pilgrimage. 

smoke,  and  with  a  heap  of  newspapers  on  the 
table  before  him. 

"  Why,  good  evening,  neighbor,"  cried  the 
host  in  a  voice  as  if  he  were  addressing  a  regi- 
ment. "  Rare  guests,  to  be  sure,  and  a  thousand 
times  welcome  ! " 

The  Colonel,  who  was  a  large  portly  gentle- 
man, rose  with  difficulty  from  his  leather-cush- 
ioned easy  chair,  and  hobbled  toward  the  new- 
comers. 

"  Well,  neighbor,  how  is  the  gout?"  inquired 
the  J-udge. 

"  The  gout,  sir  ?  Ah,  pretty  miserable — 
pretty  miserable,  my  friend.  Up  and  down,  up 
and  down,  like  a  three-wheeled  wagon.  And 
this  is  your  boy.  Ah,  yes,  I  think  I  recognize 
him.  I  heard  of  his  arrival.  Well,  you  young 
vagabond,  you  have  come  home  at  last,  and  de- 
cided to  live  like  a  sensible  mortal.  Ha,  ha,  ha  ! 
And  how  do  you  like  it  ?  " 

The  Colonel  laughed  immoderately,  and  gave 
Olafs  hand  a  shake  which  tingled  through  the 
marrow  of  his  bones. 

"  Well,  well,"  continued  he,  turning  to  the 
Judge,  who  had  in  the  meanwhile  taken  a  seat 


The  Land  of  the  Vikings.        231 

on  the  sofa  ;  "  boys  will  be  boys.  We  all  have 
our  failings,  and  the  wildest  colts,  it  is  said, 
make  the  best  horses." 

Olaf  felt  the  ire  rising  within  him  ;  but  he 
struggled  hard  to  keep  calm.  It  seemed  as  if 
everybody  was  determined  to  look  upon  him  as 
a  sort  of  prodigal  son,  as  a  reformed  reprobate 
who  needed  the  indulgence  and  forgiveness  of 
of  his  friends.  That  he  had  toiled  bravely  and 
broken  an  honorable  career  for  himself;  that 
he  felt  a  manly  pride  in  his  achievements,  and 
meant  to  build  upon  the  foundation  he  himself 
had  laid — this  no  one  seemed  to  suspect.  And 
while  he  sat  there  listening  to  the  patronizing 
remarks  of  this  ancient  chatterbox  his  indigna- 
tion changed  to  pity.  What  did  these  be- 
nighted mortals,  who  had  spent  all  their  days  in 
this  remote  corner  of  the  world,  where  a  new 
idea  was  as  rare  a  thing  as  an  eclipse  of  the  sun 
— what  did  they  know  of  the  great  life  in  which 
his  lot  was  cast?  what  standard  had  they 
whereby  to  measure  him,  and  what  right  had 
they  to  judge  him  ?  While  Olaf  was  diverting 
himself  with  these  and  similar  reflections,  the 
door  was  gently  opened,  and  a  young  lady 


232        A  Norseman's  Pilgrimage. 

entered  the  room.  She  wore  a  light  summer 
dress  which  fell  in  stiff  folds  about  her  slender 
body.  She  had  grown  taller  since  he  saw  her 
last,  and  an  expression  of  sweet,  gentle  sadness 
dwelt  in  her  features.  Her  complexion  was 
wonderfully  clear ;  her  rich,  yellow  hair  was 
bound  in  a  Grecian  knot  on  the  back  of  her 
head,  and  a  pure,  lily-like  beauty  breathed  from 
her  whole  being.  She  first  bowed  to  the  Judge, 
and  then  advanced  to  the  window  where  Olaf 
was  sitting.  He  rose  and  shook  hands  with  her. 

"Ah,  Olaf,"  she  said  in  a  hushed,  gentle 
voice  ;  "  how  kind  in  you  that  you  came  so  soon 
to  see  us.  Father  and  I  half  feared  that  you 
had  forgotten  us." 

The  young  man  murmured  something  about 
the  delight  he  experienced  at  seeing  her,  but  in 
his  heart  he  felt  guilty  and  miserable. 

"  And  how  large  you  have  grown,  Olaf,"  con- 
tinued Thora,  while  her  eyes  dwelt  with  visible 
pleasure  on  his  countenance.  "America  has 
not  changed  you  so  much  as  I  feared  it  would. 
Brynhild  and  I  have  talked  about  you  so  often, 
and  we  both  wondered  how  you  would  look  when 
you  came  back." 


The  Land  of  the  Vikings.        233 

It  was  a  luxury  to  him  to  hear  her  speak.  It 
was  many  a  year  since  anybody  had  called  him 
by  bis  first  name,  and  upon  her  lips  it  sounded  so 
sweetly  and  so  exquisitely  beautiful. 

"  I  am  happy  to  know  that  some  one  has 
thought  kindly  of  me,  Thora,"  he  answered 
"  You  don't  know  what  a  strange  experience  it  is 
to  come  home  after  so  long  an  absence.  I  am 
so  bewildered  that  I  can  hardly  collect  my  senses 
It  all  appears  to  me  like  a  charming  story,  too 
beautiful  to  be  true." 

"  I  am  glad  that  you  do  find  it  beautiful  here," 
she  replied,  with  a  pensive  smile,  "  for  we  feared 
that  after  having  travelled  so  much  and  seen  so 
many  grand  and  beautiful  things,  you  would 
think  everything  very  plain  and  simple  here  in 
your  old  home.  And  we  are  all  very  plain  peo- 
ple, you  know,  and  we  don't  hear  much  about 
what  is  going  on  in  the  world.  Father  has  told 
me  all  about  the  war  in  France,  and  about  the 
advantages  of  the  English  constitution,  but  I 
know  he  talks  to  me  about  such  things  only  be- 
cause he  has  nobody  else  to  talk  to,  and  I  am 
sure  I  find  it  very  difficult  to  remember  what  he 
explains  to  me," 


234       A  Norseman^  Pilgrimage. 

He  could  not  help  smiling  at  her  naivete  ; 
nevertheless  her  words,  by  their  very  simplicity, 
impressed  him  deeply.  He  had  long  ago  made 
the  acquaintance  of  such  characters  in  books, 
but  he  had  quite  forgotten  that  they  also  existed 
in  reality.  Five  years  ago  he  had  himself  been 
too  much  a  part  of  this  primitive  life  to  be  able 
to  view  it  objectively.  Thora  had  then  to  him 
been  a  beautiful  young  girl,  and  nothing  more  ; 
now,  in  the  capacity  of  an  author,  he  discovered 
a  new  side  to  her  character,  and  she  accordingly 
assumed  a  fresh  importance  in  his  eyes. 

The  call  was  prolonged  until  almost  an  hour 
had  passed,  and  Olaf  and  Thora  made  rapid 
advances  in  each  other's  favor.  The  two  old 
gentlemen  in  the  meanwhile  discussed  the  pros- 
pects of  the  crops,  the  situation  of  King  Ama- 
deo,  and  the  defeat  of  the  Ultramontanes 
in  Germany ;  but  at  times  they  paused  to 
exchange  a  meaning  glance,  while  they  watched 
the  young  couple  at  the  window  with  an  air  of 
profound  satisfaction.  At  length  the  horses 
were  brought  to  the  door,  and  the  visitors 
reluctantly  departed.  On  the  homeward  way 
hardly  a  word  was  spoken.  But  as  they  dis- 


The  Land  of  the   Vikings.         235 

mounted  at  the  garden  gate,  the  Judge  laid  his 
arm  on  his  grandson's  shoulder  (by  the  way,  a 
very  unusual  thing  for  him  to  do),  and  said, 
"  Well,  how  do  you  like  the  Colonel's  daughter  ?  " 

"  She  is  a  very  beautiful  girl,"  answered  Olaf 
hastily. 

Many  strange  thoughts  whirled  about  in  Olaf 
Varberg's  head  that  night,  as  he  retired  to  his 
rooms — those  same  rooms  which  had  witnessed 
his  early  struggles  and  dreams  in  his  happy  stu- 
dent days.  Everything  was  just  as  when  he  left 
it.  His  favorite  authors  still  stood  in  the  book- 
shelves as  he  had  himself  arranged  them  ;  the 
pictures  hung  in  their  old  places  upon  the  walls, 
and  gazed  upon  him  with  a  familiar  air  of  recog- 
nition ;  the  carved  furniture,  with  the  green 
damask  covers,  the  large  canopied  bed,  with  its 
flowered  curtains — all  was  unchanged  ;  it  was  as 
if  he  had  but  yesterday  stepped  out  of  this  room 
— as  if  these  five  years,  with  their  manifold 
experiences,  had  been  but  an  empty  dream,  a 
bewildered  fancy.  He  had  come  here — he 
hardly  knew  why — perhaps  to  enjoy  a  few  brief 
days  of  rest — and  now  he  found  himself  involved 
in  a  new  and  hopeless  struggle. 


236        A  Norsemaris  Pilgrimage. 

He  flung  himself  down  in  an  easy-chair; 
paper  and  ink  lay  before  him  on  the  table. 
With  a  sudden  resolution,  he  seized  the  pen  and 
wrote  a  long  letter  to  Ruth. 

"  She  must  come,"  he  murmured,  as  he 
sealed  the  envelope ;  "  and  for  the  rest,  let  me 
trust  to  fortune." 


Ruth's  Arrival.  237 


CHAPTER  XIII. 
RutKs  Arrival. 

WO  weeks  had  passed  since  Olaf  s  arrival 
They  had  been  veiy  quiet  and  uneventful 
weeks,  but  nevertheless  fraught  with  strange  and 
novel  experiences.  Olaf  had  come  to  the  con- 
clusion that  he  was  in  fact  the  most  complex 
character  that  ever  lived.  Already  while  in 
Leipsic  had  he  discovered  that  the  man  and  the 
author  in  him  were,  so  to  speak,  two  distinct 
individuals  whose  interests  frequently  clashed ; 
Varberg  the  man  had  fallen  in  love  with  Ruth, 
while  Varberg  the  author  had  remained  provok- 
ingly  cold.  Now,  to  still  further  complicate  the 
problem,  a  fresh  difficulty  thrust  itself  upon  his 
attention.  He  found  that  his  American  life  had 
developed  one  side  of  his  nature  which  here  in 
Norway  he  was  forced  to  ignore;  and  his  old 
Norse  self,  which  had  slumbered  so  long,  was 


238        A  Norseman^  Pilgrimage. 

now   awakening  and   asserting   its   rights   with 
renewed  power. 

The  days  dragged  along  slowly  and  deli- 
ciously,  and  nothing  occurred  to  break  their 
calm,  idyllic  monotony.  So  Olaf  had  time 
enough  for  self-contemplation ;  and  with  the 
introspective  tendency  peculiar  to  youth,  he 
groped  vaguely  about  in  the  labyrinthine  re- 
cesses of  his  being,  and,  as  I  have  said,  ended 
with  deciding  that  he  was  the  most  complicated 
phenomenon  under  the  sun.  What  especially 
perplexed  him  was  his  relation  to  Thora.  He 
saw  her  almost  daily,  rowed  with  her  on  the 
fjord,  took  long  walks  with  her  through  the 
fragrant  birch  groves,  and  saw  with  secret  alarm 
their  relation  growing  day  by  day  more  danger- 
ously intimate.  He  did  not  seek  her,  neither 
did  she  seek  him  ;  but  through  some  fatality 
their  paths  would  inevitably  meet.  He  always 
felt  his  heart  beat  faster  when  he  saw  her  lithe 
figure  in  the  shimmering  shadow  of  the  leaves ; 
and  he  was  immediately  transported  into  that 
impersonal,  romantic  mood  in  which  the  mad- 
dest words  and  deeds  seem  so  perfectly  natural 
as  almost  to  be  trite  and  commonplace.  Olaf, 


RutKs  Arrival.  239 

whose  head  was  constantly  filled  with  possible 
plots  for  novels  and  dramas,  at  such  times 
assumed  to  himself  a  certain  heroic  character ; 
he  hovered  high  above  the  paltry  realities  of  life, 
and  felt  as  irresponsible  as  if  he  had  been  the 
Grand  Mogul  himself.  He  did  not  love  Thora 
— at  all  events  not  in  the  sense  in  which  he 
loved  Ruth ;  but  for  all  that,  he  was  frequently 
conscious  of  a  mad  desire  to  propose  to  her,  not 
because  he  was  vain  or  heartless  enough  to  trifle 
with  her  affections,  but  only  in  order  to  act  out 
the  plot,  and  to  carry  out  the  illusion  to  its  last 
consequences.  The  air  was  so  soft  and  calm, 
the  sun  burned  so  ethereally  remote  upon  the 
sky,  the  mountains  stood  so  serenely  gigantic  in 
the  azure  distance,  the  maiden  at  his  side  was 
so  bewilderingly  fair,  and  the  whole  scene  con- 
trasted so  gratefully  with  the  tumult  of  life  from 
which  he  had  lately  escaped,  as  utterly  to 
remove  it  from  the  sphere  of  responsible  reality. 
It  was  all  a  beautiful  idyllic  romance  of  which 
he  was  the  hero  and  she  the  heroine,  and  in 
romances  people  always  propose,  and  his  ro- 
mantic sense  of  duty  tempted  him  to  do  the 
same.  What  Thora's  emotions  may  have  been, 


240        A  Norseman^  Pilgrimage. 

we  are  not  authorized  to  say  ;  for  Olaf  s  journals 
contain  no  hint,  and  still  less  any  decisive  evi- 
dence. She  was  a  dutiful  daughter,  and  was 
probably  aware  that  her  father  was  not  averse  to 
a  connection  of  the  two  families  ;  but  whether 
her  admirer  was  anything  more  to  her  than  that 
abstract  possibility  of  a  husband  which  any 
young  man  of  his  attainments  might  have  been, 
will  always  remain  a  matter  of  doubt. 

Olaf  had  told  his  grandparents  that  some 
American  friends  would  be  visiting  Norway  dur- 
ing the  summer;  they  had  showed  him  great 
kindness  during  his  stay  in  .Germany,  he  said,  and 
he  hoped  that  there  would  be  no  objection  to 
his  inviting  them  to  spend  a  couple  of  weeks  in 
his  home.  He  well  knew  that  his  request  would 
be  willingly  granted,  and  he  had  therefore  had 
no  scruples  in  anticipating  the  decision.  The 
long-expected  letter  from  Ruth  arrived  at  last, 
and  during  the  next  week  the  otherwise  so  quiet 
household  was  in  a  flutter  of  expectation,  and 
the  position,  character,  and  appearance  of  the 
American  guests  were  the  all-absorbing  topic  of 
conversation. 

It  was  a  dim,  warm  evening — an  evening  of 


Ruttis  Arrii'i!.  241 

deepest  repose.  The  sun  hung  low  over  the 
western  mountain  tops,  and  the  horizon  was 
flushed  with  a  faint  crimson  tint  which  shaded 
imperceptibly  into  the  upper  regions  of  purer 
blue.  The  water  was  as  grave  and  placid  as  only 
the  fjords  of  Norway  can  be.  The  large  flag 
drowsed  on  its  pole  at  the  end  of  the  pier,  and 
at  Olafs  direction  a  man  was  stationed  on  the 
beach,  ready  to  fire  the  cannon  as  soon  as  the 
steamer  came  into  view.  And  the  signal  was 
given.  The  echo  thundered  away  over  the  moun- 
tains, and  the  huge,  black  boat  came  ploughing 
a  path  of  foam  through  the  glittering  billows. 
Olaf  and  Brynhild,  with  two  oarsmen,  rowed 
out  to  receive  the  visitors.  On  the  bridge  stood 
a  tall  young  lady,  with  a  light  straw  hat  on  her 
head,  and  a  brightly-colored  shawl  thrown  around 
her  shoulders ;  she  leaned  over  the  railing  and 
waved  her  handkerchief,  and  Olaf  and  his  sister 
responded  from  the  boat.  There  is  no  need  of 
dwelling  on  the  scene  of  reception  ;  half  an  hour 
later  Ruth  and  Mrs.  Elder  entered  the  large 
drawing-room,  and  Olaf  was  so  proud  and  happy 
that  he  felt  inclined  to  shout  or  commit  some 
other  breach  of  propriety.  Dearie  had  decided 
ii 


242        A,  Norsemaris  Pilgrimage. 

to  remain  with  her  relatives  in  England.  The 
host  and  the  hostess  cordially  welcomed  the 
guests  at  the  door,  and  Brynhild,  who  could  not 
tear  her  eyes  away  from  Ruth's  countenance, 
eagerly  relieved  the  ladies  of  waterproofs,  hats, 
and  shawls. 

"  How  beautiful  she  is,"  murmured  she  in  her 
brother's  ear,  and  he  nodded  and  smiled  triumph- 
antly. 

Mrs.  Elder's  features  wore  an  air  of  mild 
defiance  and  perplexity.  Only  a  week  ago,  when 
she  had  reluctantly  yielded  to  Ruth's  energetic 
persuasions  and  accepted  Olafs  invitation,  it  had 
been  a  serious  question  with  her  whether  they 
ought  not  to  bring  with  them  their  own  bedding, 
and  a  small  supply  of  provisions  ;  the  worthy 
old  lady  had  even,  with  a  secret  relish,  antici- 
pated the  patronizing  attitude  she,  as  a  woman 
of  the  world,  was  to  assume  toward  the  natives. 
Now,  all  these  pleasant  prospects  were  spoiled  ; 
and  as  all  Mrs.  Elder's  mental  processes  were 
slow,  it  would  necessarily  take  some  time  before 
she  could  find  herself  at  her  ease  in  this  surpris- 
ingly novel  situation.  Having  drunk  the  toast 
of  welcome,  the  guests  retired  with  Brynhild  to 


RutKs  Arrival.  243 

their  rooms,  and  appeared  again  in  time  for 
supper.  The  Judge,  with  not  a  little  formality, 
offered  his  arm  to  Mrs.  Elder,  Olaf  hastened  to 
Ruth's  side,  and  a  young  officer,  who  wrote  in 
the  Judge's  office,  followed  with  Brynhild. 

"And  what  is  your  impression  of  Norway, 
madam  ?  "  asked  old  Mr.  Varberg,  having  brought 
his  lady  to  a  seat  at  his  side. 

"Ah,  you  speak  English,"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Elder.  "  I  didn't  know  that  the  natives  of  Nor- 
way generally  spoke  English." 

"No;  the  natives  of  Norway  generally  do 
not,"  said  the  Judge  emphatically. 

Ruth  grew  uneasy ;  she  knew  that  her  aunt 
was  treading  on  dangerous  ground ;  but  Olaf 
came  to  the  rescue. 

"  I  have  been  thinking  of  what  we  can  do  to 
amuse  our  guests  while  they  are  staying  with  us," 
he  said,  addressing  himself  to  his  grandfather. 
"  You  know  the  resources  of  the  place,  as  it  is 
to-day,  better  than  I  do.  What,  for  instance, 
would  you  propose  for  to-morrow  ?  " 

"  If  the  ladies  are  good  climbers,  you  might 
make  an  excursion  to  the  glaciers." 

All  parties  present  evinced  a  vivid  interest  in 


244       A  Norseman's  Pilgrimage. 

this  proposition,  and  numerous  plans  were  sug- 
gested. It  was  finally  decided  that  the  excur- 
sion should  be  put  off  for  a  week,  until  more 
visitors  had  arrived,  and  the  Americans  had  ex- 
hausted the  wonders  of  the  immediate  vicinity. 

Olaf,  for  some  reason  or  other,  was  in  high 
spirits,  and  his  good  humor  was  of  a  contagious 
kind  and  soon  communicated  itself  to  all  the 
rest.  He  beguiled  Mrs.  Elder  into  recounting 
the  incidents  of  their  journey  through  France 
and  their  sojourn  in  England,  and  craftily  con- 
trived to  start  his  grandfather  and  Ruth  on  a 
musical  discussion  concerning  the  relative  merits 
of  the  old  Mozart  and  Beethoven  and  the  new 
Chopin  and  Wagner  schools.  Ruth  expressed 
her  opinions  clearly,  and  with  a  beautiful  natural- 
ness .and  ease  which  evidently  startled  the  old 
gentleman  more  than  he  was  willing  to  admit. 
He  was  not  accustomed  to  hear  women  talk  in 
that  way ;  and  although  he  thoroughly  enjoyed 
this  free  exchange  of  opinions,  he  was  old-fash- 
ioned enough  to  question  whether  he  really  ap- 
proved of  the  thing  in  the  abstract.  The  grand- 
mother, down  at  the  other  end  of  the  table,  was 
positive  that  she  did  not ;  to  be  sure,  she  did  not 


RutKs  Arrival.  245 

understand  English,  and  could  not  judge  Ruth  by 
what  she  said;  but  seeing  that  she  was  bril- 
liant and  beautiful,  she  instinctively  felt  that  her 
arrival  must  mean  something;  and  that  this 
young  lady's  influence  over  her  grandson  would 
not  be  favorable  to  her  own  intentions  with  him 
was  self-evident.  Her  own  ideas  of  American 
young  ladyhood,  derived  mostly  from  the  ac- 
counts of  English  travellers,  had  represented  the 
fair  sex  of  our  land  as  masculine,  forward,  and 
unattractive,  and  with  the  generalizing  tendency 
of  the  feminine  mind,  she  had  immediately  con- 
cluded that  Ruth,  from  an  affectional  point  of 
view,  was  altogether  harmless.  Could  it  be  pos- 
sible, she  argued,  that  her  boy  was  purposely 
leading  her  astray  when  he  spoke  with  such  per- 
fect coolness  of  extending  their  hospitality  to 
these  foreigners?  And  she  had  blindly  credited 
his  proposal  to  a  certain  manly  pride  which  did 
not  allow  him  to  receive  without  giving  in  re- 
turn, and  perhaps  to  a  very7  pardonable  desire 
to  display  the  ancient  wealth  and  glory  of  his 
home. 

When  the  meal  was  at  an  end  the  young 
people  rose,  and,  according  to  old  Norse  cus- 


246       A.  Norsemaris  Pilgrimage. 

torn,  went  up  to  the  master  and  the  mistress  of 
the  house,  shook  hands  with  them,  and  said  Tak 
for  Maden  (Thanks  for  the  food).  Ruth  imme- 
diately caught  these  words,  walked  up  to  the 
Judge  and  his  wife,  and  held  out  her  hand. 

"  Tak  for  Maden"  she  said. 

The  Judge  grasped  her  hand,  shook  it  heart- 
ily, and  looked  immensely  pleased.  Olaf  in  the 
meanwhile  stood  looking  hard  at  Ruth,  to  dis- 
cover if  the  old  roguish  twinkle  was  not  lurking 
in  her  eye ;  but  he  only  saw  an  open  pleasant 
smile,  evidently  provoked  by  her  unsuccessful 
attempt  at  pronouncing  the  foreign  words. 

"  Ah,"  thought  Olaf,  and  rubbed  his  hands 
contentedly ;  "  she  will  have  grandfather  in  love 
with  her  before  a  week  is  past." 

The  sun  was  yet  peeping  above  the  horizon, 
and  the  daylight  still  lingered.  The  air  was  as 
warm  as  at  midsummer.  The  old  folks  took 
their  seats  out  on  the  balcony,  and  the  Judge 
ordered  cigars  and  the  ingredients  requisite  for 
making  toddy.  And  there  he  sat  smoking,  and 
at  the  same  time  carrying  on  rather  a  laborious 
conversation  with  Mrs.  Elder,  acting  as  inter- 
preter between  her  and  his  wife.  Brynhild  was 


RutKs  Arrival.  247 

occupied  with  her  household  duties,  and  Ruth 
and  Olaf  had  seized  the  opportunity  to  take  a 
walk  on  the  beach. 

"And  now,  Miss  Ruth,"  he  said,  as  soon  as 
they  were  alone,  "  you  must  tell  me  what  you 
think  of  Norway." 

"  To  be  candid,"  answered  Ruth,  "  I  don't 
think  at  all.  I  find  no  time  for  thinking.  I  can 
only  see  and  enjoy.  I  have  had  many  strange 
notions  about  this  remote  sea-kingdom,  which  I 
imagined  to  be  your  home,  but  my  conjectures 
were  nothing  like  this  grand  reality.  If  I  had 
been  consulted  at  the  creation  of  the  world,  I 
should  have  placed  Paradise  here,  in  this  very 
region." 

"  Ah,  you  haven't  been  here  long  yet,"  re- 
monstrated Olaf,  although  he  was  secretly  re* 
joiced  at  her  enthusiasm.  "  But  if  you  had  to 
stay  here  in  the  winter,  when  the  wind  drives 
huge  drifts  of  black  cloud  in  between  the  moun- 
tains, and  this  calm  glittering  fjord  is  one  vast 
mass  of  dark  foamy  smoke,  and  the  leafless  trees 
bend  and  moan  under  the  scourge  of  the  tem- 
pest, then  I  am  afraid  you  would  change  yo,ur 
opinion,1' 


248        A  Norsemaris  Pilgrimage. 

"  But  then  one  appreciates  a  warm  and  cosy 
parlor  the  more;  and  if  I  could  only  have  the 
monthly  magazines  and  all  the  reading  matter 
I  wanted,  I  don't  think  it  would  be  so  terrible." 

"  Who  is  romantic  now  ?  "  exclaimed  he  laugh- 
ingly. "  Don't  you  remember  how  you  ridiculed 
me  in  Strasbourg  for  this  same  sort  of  talk?" 

"  Oh  yes ;  that  was  in  Strasbourg,  you  know," 
retorted  she.  "  But  now  we  are  in  Norway,  and 
that  makes  quite  a  difference." 

Where  the  highway  bordered  on  the  beach, 
there  grew  a  couple  of  drooping  birches,  between 
which  there  was  a  rough  bench.  It  was  rather 
large  for  one,  and  would  seat  two  without  much 
difficulty.  Ruth  and  Olaf,  found  the  spot 
peculiarly  inviting.  It  was  high  tide  ;  the  mirror 
of  the  water  moved  in  smooth,  pensive  undula- 
tions which  caught  a  tinge  of  crimson  from  the 
sunset,  became  transparent  as  they  neared  the 
shore,  and  broke  in  a  soft  ripple  upon  the  sand. 
Large  white  sea-birds  sailed  calmly  under  the  sky, 
then  plunged  headlong  into  the  fjord,  whence 
high  spurts  of  spray  rose  and  again  fell  hissing 
over  the  shining  surface.  Olaf  had  never  felt 
prouder  of  his  native  land  than  in  this  moment ; 


Rutiis  Arrival*  249 

and  the  feet  that  Ruth  deemed  it  worthy  of  her 
admiration  heightened  a  hundredfold  his  own 
enjoyment.  The  enchantment  of  her  presence 
filled  the  air,  and  made  it  sweeter  and  richer  to 
breathe.  The  dreamy  apathy  which  had  pos- 
sessed him  before  her  arrival  had  vanished,  and 
the  bright  atmosphere  which  ever  surrounded 
her,  like  a  bracing  breath  of  the  sea,  had  awak- 
ened his  senses  to  a  keener  delight  in  existence. 

"Miss  Ruth,"  he  said  at  last,  "  I  think  I 
know  you  better  now  than  I  ever  did  before. 
These  few  hours  have  taught  me — well,  I  hardly 
know  what." 

He  was  half  prepared  to  have  her  ridicule 
the  sentiment  or  even  resent  it;  but  to  his 
surprise,  she  smiled  in  a  pleased  way,  and  an- 
swered, "/  might  with  greater  truth  say  the 
same  of  you.  What  appeared  anomalous  to  me 
before,  and  often  startled  me,  is  now  perfectly 
intelligible.  Having  learned  to  comprehend  the 
country  in  which  you  have  spent  your  early 
years,  knowing  the  length  of  your  stay  in  Amer- 
ica, and  then  considering  your  natural  disposi- 
tion— supposing  these  three  things  to  be  knows 
quantities,  I  think  I  could  have  calculated  your 


250       A  Norsemaris  Pilgrimage. 

character  with  the  exactness  of  an  algebraic 
problem — that  is,  if  I  had  any  head  for  mathe- 
matics," she  added  with  a  merry  laugh.  "  But 
^unfortunately  I  have  not." 

"  Well,  it  is  your  good  luck  or  my  good  luck 
— whatever  you  please — that  you  are  not  gifted 
in  that  direction,"  was  his  reply.  "  I  should 
dislike  to  be  such  an  inevitable  result  of  certain 
iron  forces  in  the  making  of  which  I  had 
myself  no  hand.  Moreover,  I  am  persuaded 
that  you  cannot  calculate  human  beings  in  that 
fashion." 

"  Yes,  with  men  you  can,  but  with  women  it 
is  quite  another  matter.  They  are  the  results 
of  a  thousand  incalculable  combinations,  which 
are  too  subtle  for  the  mathematician  to  deal 
with.  Therefore  the  attempt  on  the  part  of  a 
man  to  account  for  the  doings  or  the  character 
of  a  woman  always  ends  in  dire  failure." 

"But  do  you  mean  to  imply  that  women 
mutually  understand  each  other?" 

"  At  times.     Yes." 

"  Ergo :  women  are  greater  mathematicians 
than  men,  and  there  our  logic  stops." 

"  How  provokingly  stubborn  you  are,"  cried 


RutJis  Arrival.  251 

Ruth,  and  sprang  up  from  her  seat.  "  Now  I 
think  it  is  time  that  we  commenced  to  talk 
about  something  else." 

He  was  not  in  a  mood  to  contradict  her. 
She  might  have  persisted  that  the  grass  was 
blue  and  the  beach  green,  and  he  would  joyfully 
have  consented.  Tlj|  sea  kept  up  its  vague 
murmur  in  their  ears ;  the  song-thrush,  the 
nightingale  of  Norway,  warbled  drowsily  in  the 
crowns  of  the  birch-trees,  and  the  arctic  summer 
night  shed  its  soft  splendor  around  them. 
They  walked  slowly  along  the  strand,  now 
stopping  to  pick  up  a  curious  shell,  now  watch- 
ing the  flight  of  the  large  white-winged  sea- 
birds. 

"  How  do  people  know  when  to  go  to  bed 
here  ? "  said  Ruth,  lifting  her  eyes  to  the  great 
sun-gilded  peaks  in  the  distance.  "  It  must  be 
past  nine  o'clock  now,  and  it  is  almost  as  light  as 
at  noon.  And  still  it  is  a  different  kind  of  light 
— as  if  the  sun  was  a  little  bit  weary,  and  was 
good-humoredly  coaxed  into  staying  up  a  little 
for  our  benefit.  Somehow  or  other,  I  cannot  get 
out  of  the  notion  that  all  this  has  been  gotten 
up  on  my  account,  and  that,  as  soon  as  I  have 
4 


252        A  Norsemaiis  Pilgrimage. 

become  domesticated,  nature  will  again  assume 
its  usual  working-day  appearance.  I  know  it  is 
unpardonably  conceited  in  me  to  think  so ;  but 
after  all  it  is  a  pleasant  conceit.  So,  why 
should  I  dismiss  it  ? 

"  I  can  see  no  earthly  reason  why  you 
should,"  answered  Olaf.  "  Only  wait  a  few  days, 
and  I  will  arrange  a  sunset  among  the  glaciers 
for  you,  and,  if  possible,  an  avalanche  which 
will  sweep  away  a  few  peasants'  houses,  and 
some  other  theatrical  effects  of  the  same  sort. 
I  dare  say  you  will  enjoy  it  hugely,  and  you  will 
probably  never  have  such  another  experience  in 
all  your  life." 

At  the  garden  gate  they  met  Brynhild,  who 
was  just  starting  out  in  search  of  them. 

"  Grandmother  was  afraid  you  might  be  catch- 
ing cold,"  she  said,  "  and  she  wished  me  to  bring 
you  this  shawl." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Ruth  ;  "  there  is  no  danger 
of  my  catching  cold  in  this  temperature.  But  if 
I  can  oblige  anybody  by  putting  on  a  shawl,  I 
will  do  it." 

Olaf  and  his  sister  exchanged  a  rapid  glance  ; 


Rutlis  Arrival.  253 

both  understood  the  old  lady's  tactics;  but 
Ruth  seemed  to  have  no  suspicion. 

"  But  you  didn't  tell  me  how  people  know 
when  to  go  to  bed  here,"  began  Ruth.  "  If  the 
sun  keeps  on  at  this  rate,  I  shall  be  dreadfully 
mixed  up  about  day  and  night." 

"We  go  altogether  by  instinct.  We  go  to 
bed  when  we  are  tired,  and  get  up  when  we  feel 
like  it.  And  by  a  fortunate  coincidence,  we  all 
get  tired  about  the  same  time,  and  when  Bryn- 
hild  says  that  breakfast  is  on  the  table,  we  all 
have  a  simultaneous  impulse  to  rise." 

"  What  a  delightful  way  of  living.  I  have  no 
doubt  I  shall  soon  get  accustomed  to  it." 

They  walked  up  through  the  garden,  and 
joined  the  group  on  the  balcony.  As  the  clock 
struck  ten  in  the  hall,  the  Judge  rose,  bade  the 
company  good  night,  and  retired.  The  ladies 
soon  followed  his  example.  Olaf  felt  no  desire 
for  sleep ;  the  great  fact  that  Ruth  had  arrived 
so  filled  his  mind  that  it  left  no  room  for  any 
other  thought.  He  lit  a  cigar  and  flung  himself 
down  in  his  grandfather's  easy-chair.  It  was  still 
light ;  but  just  the  faintest  suggestion  of  twilight 
(that  clear,  transparent  twilight  of  the  North) 


254        A  Norseman's  Pilgrimage. 

lingered  in  the  air,  and  the  sky  was  grave  with 
nocturnal  blue.  It  had  been  such  a  great  day 
that  the  young  man  could  not  consent  to  go  to 
rest  before  having  somehow  made  clear  to  him- 
self its  meaning  and  summed  up  its  possible  re- 
sults. That  he  loved  Ruth— that  was  at  least 
certain  ;  he  no  longer  feared  to  confess  it  to  him- 
self or  even  to  her;  and  all  the  imagined  difficul- 
ties of  uncongeniality  of  disposition  and  interests, 
etc.,  which  had  so  distressed  him  a  month  ago, 
had  vanished  in  mist.  And  as  he  weighed  the 
chances  of  Ruth's  loving  him,  the  thing  did  not 
at  least  seem  such  an  utter  absurdity  as  at  the 
time  when  first  he  considered  the  question.  In 
the  light  of  this  new  possibility,  Olaf  Varberg 
hopefully  viewed  the  life  that  lay  before  him. 
With  a  joyful  tumult  of  heart,  he  saw  the 
time  when,  sitting  in  his  cosy  study,  he  should 
find  himself  in  the  situation  so  charmingly  de- 
scribed by  Pliny  in  one  of  his  letters.  How 
lightly  would  not  the  winged  thoughts  flow  un- 
der the  spell  of  her  presence ;  how  good-na- 
turedly would  he  not  suffer  those  little  interrup- 
tions when,  leaning  confidingly  over  the  back  of 
his  chair,  she  would  glance  down  on  the  page  on 


Ruttts  Arrival.  255 

which  he  was  writing ;  and  what  wild  throbs  of 
happiness  would  not  throng  his  bosom  when  he 
read  her  affectionate  sympathy  in  her  eyes,  and 
that  fine  pride  which  only  a  wife  can  take  in  her 
husband's  real  or  imagined  greatness.  All  this 
he  saw  and  felt,  and  the  imaginary  scene  made 
him  as  happy  as  if  he  had  merely  to  reach  out 
his  hand  to  make  it  real.  Never  had  his  duties 
to  himself  and  to  her  appeared  more  sacred  to 
him  than  in  this  moment ;  never  had  the  talent, 
which  he  knew  to  be  his,  appeared  such  a  great 
and  glorious  thing;  never  had  his  purpose  in  life 
been  so  strong  and  so  clearly  defined.  In  this 
little  reverie  he  was  disturbed  by  a  pair  of  soft 
arms  which  were  gently  laid  about  his  neck,  and 
a  warm  cheek,  which  was  lightly  pressed  against 
bis.  Olaf  was  too  bewildered  to  think ;  he  turned 
his  head  quickly,  and  a  shade  of  disappointment 
flitted  over  bis  features.  It  was  Brynhild. 

"Ah,  is  it  you?"  he  said,  perhaps  a  little 
coldly. 

Brynhild  did  not  answer,  but  only  wound 
her  arms  more  tightly  about  his  neck,  as  if  she 
were  afraid  that  somebody  might  come  and  tear 
him  away  from  her.  Presently  he  felt  his  cheek 


256       A  Norseman's  Pilgrimage. 

growing  wet,  and  he  discovered  that  she  was 
weeping. 

"  But,  my  dear  girl,  what  is  the  matter  with 
you  ?  "  asked  Olaf  gently,  drawing  her  down  into 
his  lap. 

"  Oh,  how  lovely,  how  beautiful  she  is." 
sobbed  Brynhild,  and  hid  her  face  on  his  bosom. 

"Who  is  lovely?  who  is  beautiful?  I  am 
sure  I  don't  understand  you." 

"  Ah,  your  American  lady.  You  never  told 
us  that  she  looked  like  that." 

"  And  you  cry  because  she  is  lovelier  and 
more  beautiful  than  you  imagined  her?  " 

"  Oh,  Olaf,  you  don't  know,"  cried  the  girl, 
with  a  fresh  burst  of  grief.  "  We  thought — 
Thora  and  I  thought — that — that  you  would 
always  remain  at  home." 

She  started  up  as  if  frightened  at  her  own 
words,  and  almost  ran  into  the  house.  Olaf 
hardly  knew  why,  but  her  words  sent  a  pang 
to  his  heart.  His  first  impulse  was  to  call  after 
her  and  demand  an  explanation  ;  but  somehow 
he  imagined  what  she  might  have  to  tell  him, 
and  on  a  second  thought  he  concluded  that  there 
are  times  when  certainty  is  even  worse  than 


RutRs  Arrival.  257 

doubt.  So  he  arose  and  walked  up  to  his 
rooms  ;  but  his  happy  reverie  was  spoiled. 

Ruth  woke  up  with  the  sensation  of  having 
slept  for  a  fortnight  when  the  maid  called  her 
the  next  morning.  And  when  the  shining 
coffee-pot  was  placed  upon  a  little  table  before 
her  bed,  and  the  fragrant  brown  liquid  poured 
into  the  china  cups,  she  opened  her  eyes  widely, 
and  asked  why  they  had  allowed  her  to  sleep 
until  after  dinner.  She  had  a  vague  impression 
that  the  German  custom  of  drinking  coffee 
immediately  on  rising  from  the  dinner-table  pre- 
vailed in  Norway  too  (as  indeed  it  does) ;  but  the 
Norse  fashion  of  drinking  coffee  while  in  bed  she 
was  as  yet  unacquainted  with.  But,  as  she  had 
already  declared,  she  was  bound  to  respect  the 
national  customs ;  and  to  convince  herself  of  her 
own  sincerity,  she  began  with  making  a  martyr 
of  herself  by  drinking  more  than  she  really 
wanted. 

This  old  house,  with  its  spacious  halls,  its 
quaint  tapestry,  and  its  air  of  good  cheer  and 
large-handed  hospitality,  had  strangely  wrought 
upon  the  young  girl's  fancy.  And  then  this 
stately  old  gentleman,  with  his  stiff  gait  and  his 


258        A.  Norseman 's  Pilgrimage. 

old-fashioned  chivalresqueness  of  manner,  pos- 
sessed a  certain  romantic  fascination  in  her  eyes  ; 
in  her  present  mood  she  was  half  disposed  to 
regret  that  Olafs  sojourn  in  her  own  land  had 
made  him  so  hopelessly  American  and  so  utterly 
disloyal  to  the  traditions  of  his  family.  She 
liked  the  old  Judge  immensely,  and  was  natu- 
rally anxious  that  he  should  like  her.  It  was 
therefore  no  mere  comedy  on  her  part,  when,  on 
appearing  for  breakfast  this  morning,  she  pro- 
fessed a  vivid  interest  in  the  family  pictures  and 
allowed  their  owner  to  conduct  her  through  the 
gallery  and  entertain  her  with  the  history  and 
incidents  connected  with  each  separate  portrait. 
If  she  had  artfully  plotted  the  conquest  of  the 
old  man,  she  could  never  have  chosen  a  more 
ingenious  method.  And  when  Olaf,  who  had 
enjoyed  a  little  nap  after  the  coffee,  entered  the 
drawing-room,  he  observed  the  pleased  expres- 
sion in  his  grandfather's  countenance,  and 
secretly  triumphed  in  Ruth's  success.  He  was 
unjust  to  her,  however,  when  in  his  heart  he 
suspected  her  of  design. 

This  vast,  unrippled    calm  of  the  Northern 
sky,  the  serenely  idyllic  mood  of  the  late  sum- 


RutJis  Arrival.  259 

mer,  with  its  faint  undulations  of  tone,  by  their 
very  novelty  imparted  to  Ruth's  mind  an  ever- 
fresh  sense  of  adventure.  The  days  went  by, 
but  all  limits  of  time  and  space  were,  as  it  were, 
blurred,  and  the  question  whether  it  was  Sunday 
or  Monday  concerned  her  no  more  than  did  the 
household  expenses  of  the  Emperor  of  China. 
All  she  knew  was  that  she  thought  this  a  most 
delightful  way  of  living ;  and  as  long  as  her  aunt 
showed  no  signs  of  impatience,  she  saw  no  rea- 
son why  she  should  trouble  herself  about  the 
morrow.  The  mornings  were  usually  spent  on 
the  fjord,  rowing  or  fishing ;  the  afternoons  were 
devoted  to  rambles  through  the  neighboring 
birch  grove ;  and  in  the  evening  the  Judge  and 
Ruth  invariably  had  a  "  musical  fight "  about 
Chopin,  Liszt,  and  Beethoven,  which  usually 
ended  with  a  practical  test  of  the  merits  of  these 
composers.  Ruth  did  play  Chopin  superbly. 
Those  inarticulate  sighs  which  at  times  seem  to 
be  struggling  through  the  gloom-fraught  chords 
of  his  nocturnes  she  rendered  with  a  deep  and 
powerful  pathos,  as  if  she  had  herself  expert 
enced  all  this  dim  yearning  and  sorrow  and 
despair.  The  old -man  would  on  such  occasions 


260        A  Norseman  s  Pilgrimage. 

sit  down  at  her  side,  at  first  intent  upon  finding 
fault,  then  gradually  forgetting  his  hostile  inten-. 
tions,  until  his  eyes  kindled  with  sympathetic  ani- 
mation ;  and  at  last  he  would  rise  abruptly,  and 
begin  to  pace  up  and  down  the  floor.  Ruth  saw 
and  enjoyed  hertriumph,  but  she  was  too  prudent 
to  take  advantage  of  it;  and  the  Judge,  who  was 
just  a  little  bit  stubborn,  sat  down  once  more 
and  opened  fire  on  Liszt,  whom  he  attacked  the 
more  fiercely  because  he  had  tacitly  admitted 
his  defeat  on  Chopin.  Then  Ruth  played  one 
of  the  "  Rhapsodies  Hongroises,"  and  there  was 
another  armistice.  Nevertheless  the  Judge  was 
by  no  means  positive  whether  he  approved  or 
disapproved  of  this  young  American  girl ;  he 
was  sure  that  he  admired  her,  but  it  was  always 
under  a  protest.  In  his  opinion  women  had  no 
right  to  be  so  clever,  so  bright,  and  so  self- 
possessed  ;  in  the  good  old  times  when  he  was 
young,  girls  never  spoke  unless  they  were 
addressed,  and  then  they  invariably  blushed  and 
answered,  in  trembling  monosyllables ;  and  a 
young  man,  when  in  the  company  of  ladies, 
naturally  assumed  a  slightly  patronizing  tone, 
and  was  in  return  agreeably  impressed  with  the 


Ruth's  Arrival.  261 

idea  of  his  own  importance.  The  Judge  could 
not  but  smile  when  he  imagined  the  way  Ruth 
would  meet  a  man  who  should  approach  her  in 
this  manner.  Then,  it  was  not  to  be  denied, 
Ruth  was  an  American,  and  America  and  revo- 
lution were  to  his  mind  identical  terms.  Amer- 
ica had  been  his  evil  demon  ;  it  had  sowed  the 
seed  of  discord  in  his  family,  had  deprived  him 
of  his  only  son,  and  now  God  only  knew  what 
was  to  happen.  The  Judge  felt  that  it  was  his 
duty  to  dislike  this  young  lady,  and  he  did  his 
best  ;  but  when  he  sat  at  her  side,  and  saw  the 
fine  intelligence  of  her  dark  eyes,  and  listened  to 
those  bright  little  remarks  of  hers,  which  came 
and  went  like  a  flash  of  the  Aurora  Borealis, 
then  he  could  only  rebel  in  silence  and  own  that 
resistance  was  vain.  But  Ruth  was  happily 
unconscious  of  all  this :  she  came,  saw,  and 
conquered. 


262       A  Norseman's  Pilgrimage. 

CHAPTER  XIV. 
The  Glacier  Expedition. 

"  '"T^HERE  was  once  a  princess,  who  was  the 
•*•  most  beautiful  princess  in  all  the  world," 
exclaimed  Olaf,  as  he  saw  Ruth  emerging  from 
her  room  with  a  fine,  fresh  color  on  her  cheeks, 
and  attired  in  the  jaunty  costume,  which  with 
her  aunt's  aid  she  had  improvised  for  the  glacier 
excursion. 

"  And  there  was  once  a  prince,  who  was  the 
sauciest  creature  that  ever  lived,"  retorted  Ruth, 
pushed  him  aside,  and  ran  down  stairs. 

It  was  about  six  o'clock  in  the  morning.  A 
company  of  young  people,  including  the  youth- 
ful e"lite  of  all  the  neighborhood,  had  gathered 
down  on  the  pier,  and  a  couple  of  sturdy  oars- 
men, with  yellow  knee-breeches  and  red-peaked 
caps,  were  engaged  in  clearing  the  boats.  Tea- 
kettles, lunch-baskets,  and  various  articles  of 
wearing  apparel  were  stowed  away  under  the 


The  Glacier  Expedition.          263 

row-benches,  and  the  young  lieutenants,  who 
liked  to  display  their  authority  before  the  ladies, 
shouted  their  orders  in  stentorian  accents.  Then 
all  of  a  sudden  there  was  a  hush ;  the  ladies  put 
their  heads  together  and  spoke  in  whispers,  and 
the  gentlemen  pulled  at  their  waistcoats  and 
drew  themselves  up  into  martial  attitudes.  Ruth 
was  seen  descending  the  garden  terrace.  They 
had  all  heard  about  this  wonderful  American 
beauty,  but  only  few  of  them  had  seen  her ;  ru- 
mor had  been  busy  with  her  name  even  before 
her  arrival,  and  had  magnified  every  circum- 
stance connected  with  her  into  the  most  fabulous 
dimensions.  That  she  had  come  to  marry  the 
grandson  of  the  Judge  seemed  to  be  a  settled 
thing ;  and  it  was  told  for  certain  that  she  owned 
a  bank  of  her  own,  and  was  rich  enough  to  buy 
out  the  whole  parish.  The  parish  shoemaker,  who 
was  the  authorized  bearer  of  news,  had  reported 
her  to  be  "  fairer  and  richer  than  the  Queen  of 
England,"  taking  it  for  granted  that  the  Queen 
of  England  was  beyond  dispute,  by  virtue  of 
her  position,  the  most  beautiful  woman  in  the 
world.  He  had  also  thrown  out  some  dark  hint 
about "  their  doing  things  differently  in  America," 


264        A  Norseman's  Pilgrimage. 

which  by  the  parish  gossips  had  been  variously 
construed ;  but  neither  Ruth  nor  Olaf  would 
have  been  particularly  nattered  if  they  had 
known  of  the  doubt  which  existed  in  the  minds 
of  many  as  to  whether  it  was  he  or  she  who  had 
assumed  the  aggressive  part  in  the  marriage 
question.  It  was  natural  enough  that  so  mys- 
terious a  creature,  even  if  she  had  not  been  so 
loudly  heralded,  should  have  excited  the  curiosity 
and  wonder  of  the  half-rustic  neighbors  ;  now  she 
stood  among  them,  but  the  halo  of  her  rare 
Southern  beauty  and  the  fabulous  land  from 
which  she  hailed  still  seemed  to  remove  her  far 
out  of  their  sphere.  She  smiled  and  greeted 
them  in  her  own  frank,  friendly  way,  while  they 
thronged  forward  to  be  introduced.  Then  they 
all  took  their  seats  in  the  boats,  and  the  oarsmen 
thrust  out  from  the  pier. 

The  morning  fog  was  just  rising  from  the 
water,  and  drifted  in  fleecy  fragments  up  along 
the  sides  of  the  mountains.  Stray  bits  of  meadow 
and  wheat  field  lay  glittering  brightly  with  myr- 
iad dewdrops,  wherever  the  sun  had  made  a  rift 
in  the  white  veil  of  the  mist.  The  fjord  shone 
with  a  soft  summer  freshness,  as  if  it  had  just 


TJie  Glacier  Expedition.  265 

awakened  from  a  long  and  healthful  sleep.  On 
all  sides  the  huge  uncertain  forms  of  snow-hooded 
peaks  mirrored  themselves  in  the  cool  ethereal 
deep.  Hundreds  of  sea  birds  were  already  on 
the  wing ;  the  shrill-voiced  gull  sailed  majesti- 
cally over  the  wakes  of  the  boats,  and  hardly 
twenty  feet  away  the  fearless,  white-breasted 
gannet  plunged  headlong  into  the  tide  and  left 
a  patch  of  eddying  bubbles  where  it  had  van- 
ished. As  the  sun  rose  higher  a  light  shiver  ran 
over  the  surface  of  the  water,  and  its  faint  un- 
dulations played  in  changing  tints  of  reflected 
blue  and  cool  luminous  green. 

By  some  chance  Thora  Haraldson  had  come 
to  occupy  the  seat  next  to  Ruth  in  the  stern  of 
one  of  the  boats.  Olaf  sat  upon  a  cross  bench  op- 
posite, dividing  his  attention  between  the  land- 
scape and  the  company.  As  his  eyes  fell  upon 
the  fair  group  before  him,  the  picturesque  con- 
trast between  the  two  struck  his  artistic  fancy, 
and  presently  he  found  himself  critically  compar- 
ing them  and  trying  to  account  for  their  points 
of  difference.  How  frail  and  almost  insignificant 
looked  this  slender  blue-eyed  alpine  maiden  by 
the  side  of  that  tall,  brilliant,  and  magnificent 


266       A  Norseman's  Pilgrimage. 

beauty.  And  somehow  she  seemed  to  be  con- 
scious of  her  own  insignificance,  for  she  looked 
with  large  innocent  eyes  up  into  Ruth's  face,  and 
an  expression  of  child-like  wonder  was  visible  in 
her  features.  "  Ah,"  philosophized  Olaf,  "  it  is  the 
problem  of  my  life  which  stands  embodied  before 
me.  The  one  is  the  peaceful,  simple  life  of  the 
North,  with  its  small  aims  and  cares,  its  domestic 
virtues,  and  its  calm,  idyllic  beauty.  Love  to 
her  means  duty,  a  gentle  submissiveness,  and  the 
attachment  bred  by  habit  and  mutual  esteem. 
But  in  the  other's  bosom  lives  a  world  of  slum- 
bering tumult,  a  host  of  glorious  possibilities, 
which  though  still  shrunken  in  the  bud,  will  one 
day,  when  touched  by  the  wakening  warmth  of 
love,  develop  all  the  emotional  wealth  and  gran- 
deur of  perfect  womanhood.  She  is  the  flower 
of  a  larger  and  intenser  civilization,  and  all  the 
burning  pulses  of  life  which  animate  this  great 
century,  unknown  to  herself,  throb  in  her  being. 
And  it  is  my  own  future  which  I  love  in  her.  I 
too  shall  become  a  larger  and  a  more  perfect 
man  for  what  I  give  and  what  I  receive  in  the 
mystery  of  such  a  love.  The  past  lies  behind 
me,  and  Ruth  and  love  before  me." 


The  Glacier  Expedition.          267 

Olaf  might  have  causd  a  sensation  by  pro- 
posing then  and  there,  if  Ruth  had  not  uncon- 
sciouly  interrupted  his  reverie. 

"  Mr.  Olaf,"  said  she  (for  she  too  had  got  into 
the  habit  of  calling  him  by  that  name  because  it 
sounded  so  delightfully  barbarous), "  these  moun- 
tains don't  always  look  so  tall  and  magnificent, 
do  they?" 

"  Oh,  not  by  any  means,"  retorted  Olaf,  who 
was  in  that  moment  capable  of  saying  anything. 
"  Don't  you  see  they  are  standing  on  tiptoe  look- 
ing over  the  edge  of  those  clouds  in  order  to 
catch  a  glimpse  of  you  ?  It  is  not  often  that 
they  have  the  chance  of  seeing  such  a  sight." 

"  Now,  don't  be  absurd,  pray,"  answered  she, 
and  smiled,  rather  in  spite  of  herself.  "  I'really 
meant  it  quite  seriously.  I  think  you  said  some- 
thing the  other  day  about  optical  delusions 
caused  by  the  singular  transparency  of  the  air  at 
certain  seasons  of  the  year,  or  something  of  that 
sort." 

"  Yes,"  said  Olaf,  with  a  malicious  twinkle  in 
his  eye ;  "  I  did  say  something  of  that  sort.  I 
said  that  when  beautiful  young  ladies  came  here 
to  visit  them,  the  mountains  suddenly  remember 


268       A  Norseman's  Pilgrimage. 

their  youthful  dreams,  and  they  have  just  enough 
of  the  dandy  about  them  to  make  them  anxious 
to  produce  a  good  impression.  Therefore  they 
wrap  a  picturesque  cloak  of  sun-gilded  mist 
about  their  shoulders,  cock  their  glittering  hel- 
mets of  ice  a  little  so  as  to  look  reckless, 
straighten  their  aged  backs,  and  shake  off  the 
avalanches  which  slumbering  centuries  have 
heaped  up  there.  And  then — you  would  hardly 
believe  it — strange  tumultuous  emotions  awake 
in  their  stony  breasts,  and  warm  the  huge  masses 
of  ice  which  have  gathered  in  their  beards ; 
and  the  ice  melts ;  boisterous  cataracts  rush 
down  over  their  bosoms ;  their  sombre  armors 
of  pine  forest  swell  as  if  they  were  going  to 
burst,  and  hoarse,  rumbling  noises  issue  forth 
from  their  glacial  throats.  Then  they  are  only 
trying  if  they  haven't  lost  their  voices.  That 
is  how  the  mountains  behave  when  they  are 
in  love.  And  you  know,  Miss  Ruth,  all  this  is 
not  so  absurd  as  it  may  sound  to  you  ;  for  when 
you  have  made  conquests  of  grandfather,  and 
Brynhild,  and  myself,  and  all  the  rest  of  us,  why 
then  should  the  mountains  be  exceptions?  '' 
"Why,  Mr.  Olaf,"  cried  Ruth  laughingly, 


The  Glacier  Expedition.          269 

"you  are  certainly  fibbing.  All  this  was  not 
at  all  what  you  told  me.  But  you  do  talk  so 
magnificently.  Pray  go  on.  You  may  say 
whatever  you  please." 

"  But  the  trouble  is  I  haven't  got  anything 
more  to  say." 

"  Well,  then,  you  may  keep  quiet.  But  by 
the  way,  does  your  friend  Hiss  Thora  speak 
English?" 

"I  don't  suppose  she  knows  herself;  proba- 
bly she  never  tried." 

"  I  do  understand  a  little,"  said  Thora  timidly. 
"  But  I  cannot  speak." 

"Then  Mr.  Olaf  will  act  as  our  interpreter. 
Won't  you,  Mr.  Olaf?" 

•*  Oh,  certainly." 

And  the  conversation  commenced.  They 
talked  of  Norway  and  of  America,  of  the  won- 
ders of  fjords  and  glaciers,  and  of  their  own 
little  private  doings ;  but  where  the  thoughts 
have  to  pass  through  the  medium  of  an  inter- 
preter a  conversation  can  never  become  con- 
fidential. 

It  was  still  early  morning  when  the  rowers, 
as  if  by  mutual  agreement,  pulled  up  the  drip- 


270        A  Norseman's  Pilgrimage. 

ping  oars  and  poised  them  under  their  knees ; 
the  clear  drops  of  water  sparkled  like  sun- 
smitten  emeralds,  and  fell  with  a  sharp  metallic 
click  upon  the  shining  surface.  This  was  the 
usual  resting-place,  and  Olaf,  in  deference  to 
ancient  custom,  let  a  large  jug  of  beer  pass  the 
round  among  his  crew.  There  was  a  slight  cur- 
rent jjerceptible,  and  the  boats  were  allowed  to 
drift ;  and  as  Ruth  looked  up  she  uttered  a  cry 
of  surprise,  and  gazed  in  frightened  wonder 
upon  the  vast  panorama  of  desolation  which 
spread  out  before  her.  A  minute  ago  they  had 
seen  nothing  but  the  huge  promontory  which 
loomed  up  straight  before  them,  and  which 
made  them  feel  as  if  the  boats  in  which  they 
were  sitting  were  mere  nutshells.  Now,  as  if  the 
mountain  wall  had  been  raised  like  a  back  cur- 
tain in  a  theatre,  the  view  suddenly  deepened  ; 
the  sunshine  itself  became  suffused  as  it  were 
with  a  bluish  ice-tint,  and  as  far  as  the  eye  could 
reach,  the  granite  Titans  of  the  primeval  world 
raised  their  hoary  heads  in  calm  defiance  of 
heaven.  The  keen  arrows  of  the  sun  smote 
upon  their  shields  of  snow,  and  rebounded  in 
brilliant  reflections  from  their  icy  helmets,  and 


The  Glacier  Expedition.  271 

the  sombre  shadows  of  the  fjord  below  were 
startled  with  rapid  flushes  of  crimson,  gold,  and 
violet. 

"  We  are  not  going  in  there,  are  we  ?  "  said 
Ruth  anxiously.  "  It  looks  to  me  as  if  the 
whole  thing  was  coming  down.  I  really  doubt 
if  it  is  safe  to  enter." 

"  My  official  duties  compel  me  to  travel  here 
every  week,"  remarked  one  of  the  lieutenants, 
who  could  speak  a  little  English.  "  But  it  never 
occurred  to  me  to  be  frightened." 

"  Ah,"  said  Ruth,  with  a  smile. 

"  Why  should  I  be  frightened  ?  "  continued 
the  martial  youth,  anxious  to  follow  up  his 
triumph. 

"  No,  I  can't  really  see  why  you  should," 
replied  she.  "  I  am  sure  /  shouldn't." 

The  gentleman's  countenance  fell,  and  he 
hastened  to  volunteer  his  service  at  the  oars. 
The  boats  had  now  entered  a  narrow  branch  of 
the  fjord,  one  of  the  most  wildly  picturesque 
regions  which  Norway  or  any  other  country  has 
to  show.  It  looked  like  a  mere  narrow  cleft 
between  two  gigantic  chains  of  mountains  which 
rose  with  a  grand  sweep,  almost  perpendicularly 


272        A  Norseman's  Pilgrimage. 

from  the  water.  The  bare  steep  sides  were 
thickly  furrowed  with  the  tracks  of  avalanches, 
and  at  times,  where  the  slope  descended  less 
abruptly,  wildernesses  of  debris  and  water- 
carved  bowlder  rose  like  the  stern  mausoleums 
of  dead  glaciers.  Ruth  was  right — it  did  seem 
as  if  the  mountains  might  at  any  moment  take  it 
into  their  heads  to  close  this  rift,  which  evidently 
some  earthquake  or  similar  revolution  had  burst 
open  while  the  earth  was  still  young  and  enthu- 
siastic. The  company  spoke  in  whispers,  as  if 
they  were  afraid  of  waking  some  slumbering 
Trold,  whose  very  breath  might  be  fraught  with 
destruction.  The  old  Norse  legends  of  St.  Olaf 
and  the  giants  seem  very  credible  things  in  a 
scene  like  this. 

Toward  noon  the  boats  were  put  in  at  a 
little  pier,  where  a  boisterous  torrent  mingled 
its  passionate  voice  with  the  noonday  silence  of 
the  fjord.  A  low  growth  of  stunted  birch  and 
alder  trees  edged  its  banks,  and  large  flocks  of 
goats  were  scattered  through  the  bottom  of  the 
broad  ravine. 

To  the  westward  shone  the  vast  expanse  of 
eternal  snow  ;  a  mighty  arm  of  this  illimitable 


TJie  Glacier  Expedition.          273 

arctic  field  shot  down  through  this  very  cleft, 
the  upper  end  of  which  it  filled  like  a  huge 
wedge  of  silver. 

"  Now,  here  is  a  chance  for  your  optical 
illusions,"  said  Olaf,  as  he  stood  with  Ruth  on 
the  strand.  "  How  long  do  you  suppose  it 
would  take  you  to  walk  up  to  the  edge  of  that 
glacier  ?  " 

"  I  should  imagine  about  ten  minutes,"  an- 
swered she  unsuspectingly. 

"  If  you  walk  that  distance  in  less  than  three- 
quarters  of  an  hour,  I  will  pledge  myself  to  climb 
the  peak  over  there  in  the  same  time." 

Ruth  laughed,  and  appealed  to  the  lieu- 
tenant, who,  with  outrageous  disregard  for  her 
feelings,  decided  that  she  might  regard  herself 
as  lucky  if  she  reached  the  spot  at  all,  and  that 
an  hour  was  the  minimum  of  time  required. 
The  gentlemen  were  then  called  upon  to  assist 
in  unloading  the  boats,  and  Ruth,  who  was 
beginning  to  feel  the  cold  breath  of  the  glacier, 
allowed  Olaf  to  wrap  a  shawl  about  her,  and  sat 
down  with  Thora  on  the  bank  of  the  stream. 
There  was  a  brief  debate  whether  they  should 
serve  the  dinner-  here  or  up  under  the  ice  field, 


274       A  Norseman's  Pilgrimage. 

and  as  the  sun  shone  brightly  up  there,  while 
the  bottom  of  the  cleft  was  filled  with  shadow, 
the  latter  plan  finally  prevailed.  Olaf  now 
began  to  feel  his  responsibility  as  host  and,  at 
his  sister's  suggestion,  during  the  upward 
march  devoted  himself  equally  to  all  the  ladies. 
They  were  all  very  nice,  some  even  pretty,  but 
although  many  of  them  had  known  him  in  his 
boyhood,  they  seemed  reluctant  to  recognize  in 
this  tall,  bearded  gentleman  the  gay  and  light- 
hearted  youth  who  wrote  verses  and  was  the 
lion  of  the  parish  balls  five  years  ago.  Then  his 
dress  was  of  a  foreign  cut,  and  there  was  still  a 
perceptible  accent  in  his  speech.  To  be  sure,  he 
was  perfectly  frank  and  friendly  with  them,  but 
for  all  that,  his  foreign  sojourn  had  raised  up  an 
insurmountable  wall  between  him  and  them,  and 
if  he  had  been  attempting  to  talk  to  them  across 
the  Atlantic  Ocean  the  distance  could  not  have 
appeared  greater.  And  Olaf,  whose  spiritual 
organism  was  as  sensitive  as  that  of  a  mimosa, 
was  with  every  moment  more  impressed  with 
his  own  strangeness,  until  at  last  he  was  inclined 
to  look  upon  himself  as  a  rhinoceros  or  some 
rare  animal  escaped  from  a  menagerie. 


The  Glacier  Expedition.          275 

The  ascent  of  the  steep  ravine  soon  told 
on  the  strength  of  the  ladies.  Only  Ruth  kept 
bravely  in  the  front  with  her  lieutenant,  and  her 
merry  laughter  and  her  endurance  stimulated 
the  ambition  of  the  rest.  The  rugged  path  lay 
along  the  edge  of  the  glacier  torrent,  which 
roared  and  foamed  a  hundred  feet  below,  and 
occasionally  sent  up  a  fierce  gust  of  cold,  shiver- 
ing spray.  Rude  piles  of  erratic  bowlder,  inter- 
spersed with  solitary  bushes  of  birch  and  juniper, 
covered  the  sides  of  the  ravine,  and  away  toward 
the  west  lay  a  huge  mass  of  billowy  ice,  like  a 
cataract  of  molten  silver  suddenly  congealed  or 
by  some  magic  agency  arrested  in  its  course. 
It  was  an  hour  past  noon  when  the  merry  com- 
pany halted  under  the  brink  of  the  glacier. 
Olaf  hastened  to  Ruth's  side.  He  was  curious 
to  see  how  this  sight  would  impress  her. 

"What  a  fierce,  wicked,  terrible  thing  this 
is,"  said  she  gravely,  gazing  on  the  wall  of  earth 
and  stone  which  the  ice  was  pushing  before  it. 

"  Well,  such  things  must  be,"  remarked  Olaf 
philosophically. 

"  Now,  don't  you  laugh  at  me,"  continued 
Ruth  in  the  same  serious  tone;  "but  do  you 


276        A  Norseman's  Pilgrimage. 

really  think  that  these  grand  monstrosities  were 
in  the  original  plan  of  creation  ?  Or  do  you  be- 
lieve that  they  are  accidental  things  which  have 
somehow  been  developed  afterward  ?  I  really 
can't  see  the  use  of  them." 

"  I  am  afraid  I  am  not  enough  of  a  naturalist 
to  tell  what  their  special  use  may  be  in  the 
cosmic  economy,"  replied  he.  "  But  from  an 
aesthetic  point  of  view  it  is  easy  to  account  for 
their  existence.  You  know,  beauty  is  its  own 
excuse  for  being,  as  Emerson  says,  and  you  will 
certainly  not  deny  that  this  glacier  is  beautiful." 

"  No ;  to  be  sure,  it  is  beautiful,"  said  the 
girl.  "  But  it  is  a  beauty  which  makes  me  trem- 
ble. There  is  something  hard,  and  fierce,  and 
cruel  in  it.  It  is  the  same  sort  of  beauty  that 
there  is  in  a  thunderstorm,  and  I  am  afraid  I  am 
not  heroic  enough  to  enjoy  it." 

Indeed  there  is  a  suggestion  of  terror  and  of 
stern  demoniac  will  in  these  frozen  masses  of 
wintry  strength,  and  even  the  glory  of  a  hun- 
dred sunsets  could  not  lend  one  tinge  of  serener 
beauty  to  their  cold,  fierce  sentiment  of  divine 
grandeur  and  wrath.  It  is  the  God  of  the  Old 
Testament  who  dwells  in  the  glaciers,  and  whose 


The  Glacier  Expedition.          277 

voice  makes  itself  heard  in  the  midnight  terror 
of  their  avalanches. 

The  arctic  sun,  which  even  on  a  midsummer 
noonday  is  far  from  the  zenith  of  the  sky,  was 
slowly  journeying  to  the  westward,  and  soon 
stood  almost  behind  the  glacier.  At  a  few  miles' 
distance,  where  its  upper  ridges  touched  the  sky, 
an  army  of  sparkling  steeples  traced  itself  airily 
upon  the  near  horizon,  while  further  toward  the 
north,  where  the  plateau  sloped  downward,  and 
the  outline  of  the  ice  seemed  less  jagged,  the 
boundless  snow  fields  sent  forth  a  vast  blinding 
glare  which  pained  the  eye  beyond  endurance. 
But  it  was  a  joy  to  watch  the  manifold  play  of 
the  light  upon  the  colossal  ridges,  as  they  loomed 
skyward,  and  again  abruptly  descended  in  laby- 
rinthine lines  toward  the  wall  of  moraine  which 
bounded  the  lower  plateau.  Through  their  thin, 
gracefully  sculptured  edges,  as  keen  as  that  of  a 
billow  in  the  act  of  breaking,  shone  a  glittering 
maze  of  delicate,  star-shaped  frost-flowers,  and 
gradually,  as  the  ice-blocks  became  thicker  and 
more  opaque,  their  color  shaded  through  all  the 
paler  tints  of  blue  into  the  deepest  sapphire 
gloom.  And  looking  upward  over  the  crests  of 


278       A  Norseman's  Pilgrimage. 

this  whole  mer  de  glace,  a  strange  shimmering 
sheen,  like  the  ghosts  of  a  thousand  disembodied 
colors,  seemed  to  be  floating  in  the  air,  strug- 
gling to  rise,  but  by  some  hidden  power  to  be 
fettered  to  the  icy  billows. 

The  more  prosaic  part  of  the  company  had, 
in  the  meanwhile,  been  engaged  in  spreading  the 
dinner,  upon  some  large  blocks  of  stone  about 
fifty  feet  distant  from  the  ice-wall.  The  charge 
of  the  Judge's  portable  wine  cellar  Olaf  willingly 
surrendered  to  one  of  the  officers.  A  rude  fire- 
place was  built,  the  unopened  lunch  baskets  ran- 
sacked, and  the  guests  seated  in  picturesque 
little  groups  upon  a  grassplot  near  the  banks  of 
the  river.  The  sun  was  blazing  bright  and  warm, 
and  what  little  wind  there  was  blew  toward  the 
glacier ;  so  the  spirits  of  the  young  people  grad- 
ually thawed  ;  the  shy  little  maidens  laughed  and 
chattered,  and  the  martial  gentlemen  joked  ami- 
ably, and  recounted  their  hunting  and  camp 
adventures.  When  the  dinner  was  at  an  end, 
Olaf  startled  the  company  by  announcing  his 
intention  of  ascending  the  glacier.  He  first 
asked  the  gentlemen  if  any  of  them  was  disposed 
to  accept  his  guidance,  as  he  knew  the  topog- 


The  Glacier  Expedition.          279 

raphy  of  the  place  from  his  boyhood ;  and  when 
they  refused,  he  appealed  to  the  ladies.  The 
fair-haired  damsels  stared  as  if  he  had  requested 
them  to  take  a  balloon  voyage  with  him;  but 
still  greater  was  their  wonder  when  Ruth  rose 
and  said  that  she  would  be  glad  to  put  herself 
under  his  charge. 

"But  I  warn  you  beforehand  that  it  is  no 
joking  matter,"  said  Olaf,  who  was  perhaps  him- 
self somewhat  startled ;  "  there  are  continually 
loose  blocks  breaking  away,  and  you  know  the 
guide-books  say  that  the  ascent  from  this  side  is 
dangerous. 

*  Oh,  I  have  thick  boots  on,"  answered  she, 
with  a  critical  glance  at  her  feet,  "and  as  for 
the  rest,  it  can  be  no  more  dangerous  to  me  than 
to  you." 

uYou  are  the  bravest  girl  that  ever  lived," 
whispered  he  in  her  ear.  "  I  am  charmed  to 
have  your  company." 

"Hypocrite!  "laughed  she.  "  Your  face  tells 
a  different  story.  But  for  all  that,  I  am  bound 
to  keep  you  to  your  word." 

The  young  Norseman,  used  from  his  earliest 
boyhood  to  mountain  climbing,  felt  his  heart 


280       A  Norseman^  Pilgrimage. 

leap  within  him  at  the  glorious  prospect  of  a 
stroll  over  the  eternal  snow  fields,  with  this  fair 
maiden  of  Southland  birth.  For  to  the  arctic 
fancy  of  a  Norwegian,  the  name  of  America  is 
fragrant  with  the  perfume  of  tropic  vegetation 
and  southern  romance ;  and  although  Olaf  had 
spent  four  winters  in  New  England,  he  made  no 
effort  to  rid  himself  for  the  time  being  from  his 
early  hallucinations.  He  relieved  Ruth  of  her 
shawls,  gave  her  his  hand,  and  struck  in  upon 
the  path  along  the  northern  side  of  the  ice-field. 

"And  when  can  we  expect  you  back?"  cried 
Brynhild  after  them. 

"  We  are  not  going  to  mount  to  the  top," 
shouted  he ;  "  and  if  we  are  not  back  in  an  hour 
and  a  half,  you  will  never  see  us  again,  at  least 
not  in  the  condition  in  which  we  departed." 

Brynhild  looked  frightened ;  but  she  knew 
that  her  brother  had  always  had  his  own  way, 
and  that  it  would  be  of  no  use  to  interfere. 
Ruth  was  not  altogether  unpractised  in  climbing ; 
she  had  had  a  brief  experience  a  month  ago  in 
the  Saxon  Switzerland,  and  she  now  frequently 
astonished  her  guide  by  the  accuracy  with  which 
she  measured  a  distance  wherever  there  v/as 


The  Glacier  Expedition.  281 

occasion  for  a  leap.  The  path  crept  with  irregu- 
lar steeps  and  windings  along  the  edge  of  the 
glacier,  now  and  then  losing  itself  in  devious 
"  goat  tracks  "  whenever  a  pile  of  scattered  rocks 
necessitated  a  departure  from  the  ice-line.  But 
Olaf  never  hesitated  in  his  course,  and  Ruth  had 
perfect  confidence  in  his  guidance.  It  was  a 
wonder  to  him  that  this  girl,  who  had  complained 
of  weariness  when  they  ascended  the  Strasbourg 
Cathedral,  could  step  so  briskly  through  this 
stony  wilderness,  never  losing  her  foothold,  and 
without  a  murmur  of  complaint.  He  put  it 
down  mentally  as  another  enigma  of  the  feminine 
character.  But  this  keen,  bracing  mountain  air 
has  a  wonderfully  stimulating  effect.  He  already 
felt  the  magic  of  its  breath  in  the  vigorous  rush 
of  his  own  blood,  and  in  Ruth's  cheeks  it  had 
kindled  a  glow  of  deeper  color.  There  was 
fire  in  her  eye,  and  her  voice  had  a  rich  and 
joyous  ring,  born,  as  he  fancied,  of  the  splendor 
and  the  excitement  of  the  hour.  After  more 
than  half  an  hour's  climb  they  reached  a  shel- 
tered nook  where  a  slender,  sparsely-leafed  birch, 
frail  as  a  frost-flower,  stood  trembling  over  the 
glacial  abyss.  From  hence  they  made  a  cautious 


282        A  Norseman's  Pilgrimage. 

excursion  out  on  the  ice,  and  again  returned  to 
take  a  few  moments'  rest.  Here  in  the  lee  of  a 
projecting  rock  and  exposed  to  the  southern  sun, 
some  faintly-tinted  alpine  flowers  had  been 
coaxed  into  life,  and  Olaf  plucked  them,  gave 
them  to  Ruth,  and  indulged  in  a  little  reverie 
about  their  brief  and  joyless  existence.  Ruth 
was  in  a  sympathetic  mood.  She  met  his 
thought  half  way  and  instinctively  caught  it 
before  it  was  uttered.  The  vast  loneliness  and 
the  dread  desolation  which  surrounded  them 
seemed  to  bring  them  nearer  together.  There 
was  to  him  at  that  moment  no  woman  in  all  the 
world  except  Ruth  ;  he  and  she  had  been  chosen 
to  inhabit  and  to  rule  the  virgin  earth.  Far 
down  in  the  unseen  deep  rushed  and  boomed 
the  subterranean  glacier  torrents,  like  the  voices 
of  eternity.  And  in  his  own  heart  pulsed  a  kin- 
dred life,  and  a  voice  as  mighty  and  eternal  sang 
in  his  own  breast  the  ever  fresh  mystery  of 
creation. 

"  Mr.  Olaf,"  said  she,  bending  compassion- 
ately over  the  flowers,  "  do  you  think  these 
poor  shivering  little  things  are  really  alive. 
They  seem  to  me  the  mere  frozen  breath  of  the 


The  Glacier  Expedition.          283 

glacier.  Excuse  me ;  I  grow  poetical  without 
knowing  it." 

"  You  need  make  no  excuses,"  answered  he, 
and  seated  himself  at  her  side  under  the  birch 
tree.  "  To  be  sure,  I  should  call  it  a  mere 
semblance  of  life.  And  so  are  the  lives  of  thou- 
sands of  men  and  women  who  eke  out  their 
existence  here  in  the  constant  struggle  for  daily 
bread.  What  do  they  know  of  what  life  has  to 
offer?" 

"  But  they  seem  healthy  and  robust  enough  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  but  they  count  their  years  by 
winters." 

"  How  strange.  And  did  you  too,  when  you 
lived  here,  say  that  you  were  so  and  so  many 
winters  old  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  did.  But  from  the  time  I  saw  you, 
Ruth,  mine  has  been  a  summer  life,  and  hence- 
forth I  shall  number  my  age  by  its  summers. 
It  all  depends  upon  you,  Ruth,"  he  added  in  a 
passionate  whisper.  "  I  love  you." 

A  terrible  crash  was  heard.  A  fierce,  split- 
ting noise  shot  through  the  glacier,  and  a  huge 
block  of  ice  broke  loose  and  tumbled  do\vn  into 
the  abyss,  startling  the  silent  air  with  a  harsh, 


284       A  Norseman's- Pilgrimage. 

continuous  peal,  as  of  receding  thunder.  Ruth 
gave  a  frightened  cry,  and  in  the  bewilderment 
of  terror  flung  her  arms  around  Olaf's  neck  and 
clung  fast  to  him.  He  sat  calm,  and  did  not 
stir  from  the  spot ;  in  the  excitement  of  that 
moment  nothing  could  have  moved  or  surprised 
him.  The  dread  thunder  of  the  glacier  seemed 
but  the  fitting  accompaniment  to  his  declaration. 
He  quietly  stooped  down  over  the  girl,  gazed 
into  her  frightened  face,  and  kissed  her.  Then 
it  suddenly  occurred  to  him  that  it  might  merely 
have  been  her  fright  which  had  involuntarily 
brought  her  into  his  embrace,  and  that  possibly 
he  had  been  ungenerous  in  taking  advantage  of 
her  agitation.  This  suspicion  drove  the  blood 
to  his  face ;  he  swiftly  released  her  from  his 
arms,  and  stammered  something  about  mis- 
takes and  excuses.  The  girl,  who  was  now 
perfectly  composed,  opened  her  eyes  wide  in 
astonishment ;  then  the  ludicrous  side  of  the 
situation  suddenly  struck  her. 

"Why,  Olaf,"  she  cried,  "don't  be  too  con- 
scientious, pray.  If  it  is  a  mistake,  it  is  at  all 
events  rather  late  to  retreat  now.  We  shall  have 
to  stand  by  it  like  heroes." 


The  Glacier  Expedition.          285 

"  Ruth,"  exclaimed  he,  with  a  happy  laugh, 
"  you  are  incorrigible.  To  joke  in  a  place  and 
in  a  moment  like  this  !  " 

The  mention  of  the  place  started  a  fresh 
fear  in  her  mind. 

"  You  don't  suppose  they  can  see  us  from 
down  there?"  exclaimed  she,  and  sprang  up 
from  her  seat. 

"What  if  they  do?"  answered  he  com- 
posedly. 

"Not  for  all  the  world,"  said  she  fiercely. 
"  I  would  rather  die  than  have  them  see  us." 

"Well,  calm  yourself  then.  If  they  had  the 
eyes  of  Argus,  they  could  not  see  through  that 
rock." 

The  stillness  of  the  wilderness  grew  with 
every  moment  intenser ;  the  cold  white  face  of 
the  glacier  settled  into  something  like  a  frown, 
and  the  icy  sheen  upon  its  brow  rose  with  a 
sterner  glare  against  the  azure  sky.  To  be  sure, 
summer  had  invaded  its  domain  ;  what  was  more 
natural  than  that  it  should  resent  it?  It  was 
probably  a  novel  experience  for  the  glacier  to 
have  this  glowing  bit  of  summer,  with  its  thou- 
sand warm  suggestions  (one  of  which  would  be 


286        A  Norseman's  Pilgrimage. 

enough  to  thaw  an  iceberg),  nestled  here  on  its 
very  bosom.  Something  like  this  Olaf  would 
undoubtedly  have  thought,  as  he  stood  silently 
regarding  the  glacier  before  beginning  the  de- 
scent, if  he  had  not  just  then  been  too  happy  to 
have  any  thought  at  all.  A  vast,  shapeless  bliss 
filled  his  being.  It  seemed  such  an  inconceivable 
privilege  to  be  able  to  call  Ruth  by  her  first 
name,  leaving  out  the  "  Miss  ;  "  and  during  the 
delightful  rambling  talk  which  they  carried  on, 
as  long  as  the  wilderness  alone  could  hear  them, 
he  frequently  had  to  restrain  himself  for  fear  of 
betraying  how  boyish  he  was  in  his  glee.  He 
had  always  somehow  had  the  idea  that  the 
whole  masculine  sex  were  pining  for  Ruth,  and 
he  could  not  but  confess  to  himself  that  a  sense 
of  triumph  over  his  unsuccessful  brethren  added 
to  the  keenness  of  his  joy.  A  loud  chorus  of 
voices  welcomed  them  as  they  reached  the  bot- 
tom of  the  ravine,  and  as  it  was  already  late  in 
the  afternoon,  they  rested  but  a  few  minutes 
and  then  continued  their  march  to  the  fjord. 
Brynhild  whispered  something  to  her  brother 
about  monopolizing  the  American  lady,  and  he, 
in  return,  stared  blankly  at  her,  as  if  he  could 


The  Glacier  Expedition.  287 

not  quite  see  what  she  meant,  and  then  burst 
out  into  an  uncontrollable  fit  of  laughter.  He 
had  in  one  way  or  another  to  give  vent  to  his 
superabundant  spirits,  and  this  presented  the 
first  occasion. 

"And,  after  all,  we  did  have  the  pleasure  of 
seeing  you  again  in  the  same  condition  in  which 
you  departed,"  said  one  of  the  lieutenants  to 
Olaf,  as  the  boats  were  thrust  out  from  the  beach. 

"  No ;  I  beg  your  pardon,"  answered  he 
thoughtlessly ;  "  my  condition  has  been  con- 
siderably changed  by  that  glacier  climb." 

"  Ah,"  said  the  lieutenant,  and  raised  his  eye- 
brows significantly. 

A  quick  blush  sprang  to  Ruth's  face,  and  she 
sent  Olaf  an  imploring  glance. 

••  Yes,"  continued  he,  in  the  same  careless 
voice ;  "  it  has  been  an  experience  which  prob- 
ably" (with  a  mischievous  glance  at  Ruth) 44 1  shall 
never  have  the  chance  of  repeating.  It  has  in- 
creased my  store  of  knowledge,  and  given  me  a 
glimpse  of  a  side  of  the  divine  economy  with 
which  I  never  expected  to  become  acquainted." 

••  And  with  us,  you  know,  we  have  no  glaciers 
at  all,"  interposed  Ruth  energetically. 


288       A.  Norsemarfs  Pilgrimage. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  understand,"  remarked  the  mar- 
tial gentleman,  with  a  disappointed  look ;  "  it 
must  have  been  a  very  interesting  experience — 
although  a  very  cold  one,  I  should  judge,"  he 
added,  shivering. 

Olaf  was  about  to  answer,  but  Ruth  promptly 
stopped  him. 

"  You  turned  that  very  neatly,"  whispered 
she,  and  smiled  approvingly,  as  an  hour  later 
they  sat  side  by  side  in  the  stern  of  the 
boat. 

The  sun  sank  below  the  horizon,  the  day- 
light faded,  and  the  golden  crescent  of  the 
moon  rose  from  behind  a  snow-clad  peak.  It 
shed  its  pale  glimmer  upon  the  water,  which 
shone  with  changing  tints,  playing  between  steel 
blue  and  the  usual  lucid  green.  The  evening 
was  calm  ;  hardly  a  ripple  moved  the  mirror  of 
the  fjord,  save  those  evanescent  undulations 
which  spread  from  the  bows  of  the  boats.  The 
young  officers,  who  had  good  voices,  sang  the 
famous  Swedish  duets  "  Gluntarne,"  and  the 
clear-toned  echoes  of  the  mountains  set  the 
solemn,  remote  wildernesses  a-trembling  with 


Tho  Glacier  Expedition.          289 

joyous  melody.  It  was  within  an  hour  of  mid- 
night when  they  landed  at  the  Judge's  pier. 
The  hospitable  mansion  was  prepared  for  their 
reception.  Only  a  few  of  the  ladies  followed 
Thora  to  be  the  guests  of  the  Colonel. 

"  What  are  you  doing  there,  Ruth  ?  "  asked 
Olaf,  as  after  some  search  he  found  his  heroine 
standing  behind  the  curtain  in  one  of  the  recesses 
of  the  windows. 

"  Oh,  it  is — it  is  only  those  glacier  flowers," 
answered  she  (and  it  was  the  first  time  in  his 
life  that  he  had  seen  her  confused);  "those 
flowers  which  reckoned  their  age  by  winters. 
Oh,  Olaf,"  she  exclaimed,  suddenly  interrupting 
herself,  "  tell  me  truly  and  honestly,  don't  you 
think  me  dreadfully  heartless  ?  " 

"Heartless!"  ejaculated  he,  as  if  such  a 
thing  had  never  entered  his  head ;  "  how  can 
you  imagine  anything  so  absurd  ?  " 

"Well,  it  isnt  absurd,"  persisted  the  girl 
vehemently.  "  I  came  to  think  of  it  to-day.  I 
hardly  believe  that  I  have  said  one  friendly 
word  to  you  since  we  became  acquainted.  But 
for  all  that  you  may  be  sure  of  one  thing,"  she 
13 


290       A  Norseman's  Pilgrimage. 

added  in  a  hushed,,  earnest  tone,  "  and  that  is 
that  I  love  you." 

The  moon  sailed  swiftly  through  the  noc- 
turnal sky,  the  rising  tide  beat  faintly  against 
the  strand — but  Ruth  and  Olaf  still  lingered  in 
the  curtained  recess  at  the  window. 


Conclusion.  291 


CHAPTER    XV. 
Conclusion. 

"C*OR  two  days  Ruth  and  Olaf  were  successful 
•*•  in  preserving  the  secrecy  of  their  engage- 
ment, but  at  the  end  of  that  time  they  both 
tacitly,  if  not  openly,  admitted  that  for  a  self- 
imposed  duty  it  was  a  very  arduous  one.  Ruth 
had  originally  stipulated  a  week,  and  had  even 
had  serious  thoughts  of  a  fortnight.  And  when 
her  lover  was  unable  to  see  the  expediency  of 
all  her  feminine  diplomacy,  and  even  ventured 
to  grumble,  she  would  disarm  him  with  a  smile, 
and  then  add  in  her  own  bewitching  way, 
"  Well,  you  know,  it  is  an  admirable  thing  for 
discipline." 

But  to-day  Ruth  had  herself  twice  fallen  out 
of  her  r61e  ;  first  at  the  breakfast  table  she  had 
called  him  by  his  first  name,  and  an  hour  ago,  as 
he  stood  talking  with  his  grandfather  out  on  the 
balcony,  she  had  come  up  from  behind,  put  her 


292        A  Norseman's  Pilgrimage. 

arm  through  his,  and  gazed  into  his  face  with  a 
sort  of  absent-minded  tenderness,  which  would 
have  been  sufficiently  convincing  to  the  old 
gentleman,  if  he  had  not  been  too  much  inter- 
ested in  the  discussion  to  notice  her.  Bryn- 
hild's  suspicions  had  been  aroused  long  ago ; 
and  the  soft  joyous  radiance  of  Ruth's  eyes,  the 
deep  abstraction  of  her  look  when  she  thought 
herself  unobserved,  and  even  the  occasional 
abruptness  of  her  motions,  all  went  to  confirm 
her  fears,  and  often  made  her  waver  in  her 
allegiance  to  the  fair-haired  Thora,  who  was  to 
have  rebound  the  broken  link  and  once  more 
reconciled  the  exile  to  his  family  and  his 
country. 

But  there  was  something  about  Ruth  which 
somehow  made  it  seem  a  privilege  to  be  allowed 
to  worship  her ;  and  Brynhild's  loyal  nature  could 
not  resist  this  influence  ;  moreover,  she  loved  her 
brother  too  well  not  to  feel  an  intense  interest 
in  the  woman  who  apparently  held  his  fate  in 
her  hand.  So  these  two  soon  became  friends, 
and  many  a  time  Ruth's  secret  hovered  upon 
her  lips,  and  it  was  merely  by  virtue  of  an  almost 
superhuman  effort  .that  she  stayed  her  eager 


Conclusion.  293 

tongue.  Brynhild,  on  the  other  hand,  felt  an 
equally  irresistible  desire  to  confide  in  Ruth  the 
early  marriage  plot  with  Thora,  but  on  a  second 
thought  she  concluded  that  it  would  be  ungener- 
ous and  cruel,  and  she  forbore.  Indeed,  as  the 
days  went  by,  and  she  read  hi  Ruth's  dark  eyes 
the  tale  which  they  would  fain  have  hidden,  and 
as  she  weighed  the  strong  womanly  fervor  of  a 
love  like  hers  against  the  pale  dreamy  devotion 
of  a  nature  like  Thora's,  she  no  longer  wondered 
at  her  brother's  choice. 

The  heavy  red  curtains  had  been  drawn 
before  the  parlor  windows ;  the  evening  was  cloudy 
and  a  pleasant  twilight  filled  the  room.  The 
Judge  and  his  wife  had  just  retired ;  Mrs.  Elder 
had  been  suffering  with  a  headache  during  the 
afternoon,  and  had  not  left  her  room  since  sup- 
per. Ruth  was  sitting  at  the  piano,  playing 
carelessly  a  bit  of  Schumann's  Slumber-Song. 
Olaf  had  thrown  himself  into  a  corner  of  the 
sofa. 

"  Ruth,"  he  said,  *•  won't  you  please  stop 
making  that  noise  and  come  and  sit  down  here  ? 
I  have  something  important  to  tell  you." 

Ruth  stopped  in  the  middle  of  a  measure, 


294       A  Norseman^  Pilgrimage. 

wheeled  round  on  the  piano  stool,  and  went  to 
the  sofa. 

"  Ruth,"  began  he  (for  he  still  gloried  in  her 
name),  "  I  have  been  very  much  worried  to-day 
by  the  thought  of  what  grandfather  will  say  when 
he  hears  of  this  affair  of  ours.  You  know  that 
both  he  and  grandmother  have  set  their  hearts 
on  keeping  me  at  home.  And  I  never  mentioned 
that  possibility  to  you,  I  think." 

"  I  have  thought  of  that  possibility,  neverthe- 
less," said  she  seriously. 

"  And  what  have  you  thought,  dear?" 

"  I  have  thought  that  I  would  consent  to  live 
even  in  Siberia,  if  you  would  only  live  there  with 
me." 

"  Well,  it  was  merely  a  supposititious  case. 
You  may  be  sure  I  want  to  live  nowhere  but  in 
America." 

And  he  went  on  to  explain  to  her  his  posi- 
tion in  his  grandfather's  house,  reviewed  the 
family  history  from  the  very  beginning,  and  ended 
with  declaring  that  he  would  go  to  the  old 
Judge  to-morrow,  tell  him  of  his  engagement, 
and  offer  to  renounce  his  inheritance.  Ruth 
entered  enthusiastically  into  this  plan,  and  saw 


Conclusion.  295 

with  secret  pride  the  heroic  figure  Olaf  would  cut 
when  stepping  forward  to  propose  this  magnani- 
mous sacrifice. 

"  But,"  she  added,  checking  herself  abruptly, 
11  how  much  do  you  suppose  your  grandfather  is 
worth  ?  " 

"  Ruth,  I  am  ashamed  of  you,"  cried  he  laugh- 
ing. "  Who  would  have  believed  that  you  were 
such  a  worldly  creature.  You  approve  of  the 
principle  abstractly,  but  when  you  come  to  its 
application  in  your  own  case  or  in  mine,  then 
you  begin  to  have  doubts — " 

"You  didn't  answer  my  question,  sir,"  inter- 
rupted she  earnestly. 

"  Well,  grandfather  is  probably  worth  about 
one  hundred  and  twenty  thousand  dollars,  of 
which  one  half  would  fall  to  me." 

"  But  that  is  a  great  deal  of  money,  Olaf ; 
only  think  how  many  nice  things  we  could  buy 
for  it." 

Olaf  instead  of  an  answer  flung  his  arms 
about  her,  and  if  the  journal  be  correct,  I  am 
not  sure  but  that  their  lips  met  by  chance  in  the 
the  twilight.  Then  a  sharp  click  was  heard  in 
the  next  room,  as-  if  a  key  was  being  turned  in 


296       A  Norseman's  Pilgrimage. 

the  lock,  which  was  followed  by  approaching 
footsteps.  Ruth  sprang  up,  as  if  she  had  been 
shot,  rushed  to  the  looking-glass,  and  began 
vigorously  to  smooth  her  hair,  which  had  be- 
come somewhat  disarranged.  In  an  instant  the 
door  was  opened,  and  the  young  girl  in  her  be- 
wilderment slipped  behind  the  window  curtain. 
Unhappily  the  Judge  had  an  exceedingly  sensi- 
tive ear,  and  the  unfinished  melody  of  the  Slum- 
ber-Song had  been  haunting  him  for  the  last  half- 
hour,  and  prevented  him  from  falling  asleep. 
Now  he  appeared,  wrapped  in  his  embroidered 
dressing-gown,  sat  quietly  down  at  the  piano, 
took  up  the  air  in  the  very  measure  where  Ruth 
had  been  interrupted,  and  played  it  to  the  end. 
Olaf  crouched  down  in  the  sofa,  and  in  his  heart 
he  wished  his  grandfather  a  hundred  miles  away. 
But  by  an  unlucky  accident  the  old  gentleman 
had  confirmed  himself  in  the  habit  of  examining 
fire-places  and  window  fastenings  a  couple  of  times 
before  going  to  bed ;  and,  as  he  rose  from  the 
piano,  an  evil  destiny  led  him  to  the  very  window 
where  Ruth  had  sought  a  hiding-place.  The 
Judge  drew  the  curtain  gently  aside. 

"  But,  my  dear,"  exclaimed  he  in  a  voice  of 


Conclusion.  297 

surprise,  "are  you  playing  hide-and-seek  here, 
all  alone?" 

Ruth  felt  her  heart  beating  in  her  throat; 
but  she  nerved  herself  for  the  moment,  put  on 
an  air  of  reckless  defiance,  and  stood  bolt  up- 
right before  the  Judge.  Olaf  perceived  that  it 
was  time  for  him  to  come  to  her  rescue. 

"  Grandfather,"  he  began  bravely,  taking 
Ruth  by  the  hand,  "  Ruth  and  I— well,  the  fact 
is — that  Ruth  and  I  have  found  out  that  we 
love  one  another." 

"  Ruth  and  you  have  found  out  that  you 
love  one  another,  have  you?"  repeated  the 
Judge  slowly,  as  if  he  were  weighing  each  word. 
"  When  did  you  find  that  out  ?  " 

"  I  discovered  my  love  for  Ruth  a  long  time 
ago  ;  the  very  first  time  I  saw  her." 

"  And  I  did  too — a  very  long  time  ago," 
echoed  Ruth  eagerly. 

"  I  can  readily  believe  that,"  said  the  old 
man  smiling,  and  seated  himself  on  the  piano 
stool.  "He  probably  behaved  in  such  a  way 
that  you  must  have  been  blind  if  you  did  not 
see  it." 

•'  You  know  I  don't  mean  that,"  retorted  the 
13* 


298       A  Norseman's  Pilgrimage. 

girl,  who  felt  her  spirits  rapidly  reviving.  "  I 
am  sure  you  understand  very  well  what  I  do 
mean." 

*"  Well,  well,"  sighed  the  Judge  ;  u  young  folks 
will  make  strange  discoveries  in  this  world." 

Then  there  was  a  long  pause,  during  which 
the  Judge's  breathing  was  painfully  audible. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  raising  his  head  abruptly, 
"  what  can  I  do  about  it  ?  You  haven't  asked 
my  advice,  and  I  am  sorry  that  I  have  disturbed 
you.'' 

"  We  just  want  you  to  say  that  it  is  all  right," 
answered  Ruth  promptly. 

"  You  want  me  to  say  that  it  is  all  right. 
Aha !  But  now,  if  I  should  say  that  it  isn't  all 
right,  what  then  ?  " 

"  Then  we  should  be  very  sorry  indeed." 

"  Yes,  we  should  never  be  perfectly  happy  if 
we  thought  that  we  had  grieved  you,"  added 
Olaf. 

"  I  would  not  make  you  unhappy  for  any- 
thing, children,"  said  his  grandfather,  struggling 
hard  to  keep  his  voice  firm.  "  However,  I  know 
that  I  can  do  but  little  here.  You,  my  boy, 
have  long  been  beyond  my  reach.  And  I  know 


Conclusion.  299 

that  it  must  be  so,  and  accept  what  is  inevitable. 
Since  you  wish  my  consent  in  this  matter,  I 
should  be  a  wretch  if  I  withheld  it.  I  wish  you 
all  the  happiness  that  life  has  to  offer." 

He  rose  quickly  and  went  to  the  door. 
There  he  paused  for  a  minute.,  and  regarded 
with  a  sad  eye  the  young  couple,  who  still  stood 
hand  in  hand  before  him  in  the  twilight. 

"Well,  my  dear/*  he  said,  taking  a  step 
toward  Ruth,  "if  you  are  my  daughter,  I 
probably  have  the  privilege  of  kissing  you 
good  night. 

Ruth  rushed  toward  him,  and  flung  her  arms 
about  his  neck.  And  he  kissed  her  tenderly,  as 
he  would  have  kissed  his  own  daughter ;  but  a 
tear  trembled  in  his  eye— trembled  for  a  mo- 
ment, and  fell  on  the  girl's  forehead. 

What  remains  of  Ruth's  and  Varberg's  story 
may  be  briefly  told,  especially  as  the  entries  in 
,the  latter's  journal  after  this  date  are  few  and 
irregular.  They  had  a  hard  battle  to  fight  the 
next  day  with  Olafs  grandmother,  but  when  she 
had  convinced  herself  that  resistance  was  vain, 
and  moreover  the.  Judge  took  sides  against  her, 
she  gracefully  succumbed,  on  the  condition  that 


300       A  Norseman's  Pilgrimage. 

she  should  herself  have  the  privilege  of  making 
the  wedding.  Olaf  remarks  that  since  the  en- 
gagement was  made  public,  his  grandfather  has 
evinced  a  most  extraordinary  interest  in  Amer- 
ica, and  the  grand  republic  furnishes  inexhausti- 
ble themes  for  conversation  at  breakfast,  dinner, 
and  supper.  It  is  also  evident  that  the  Judge 
takes  no  little  pride  in  exhibiting  his  accom- 
plished American  daughter-in-law  to  the  gran- 
dees of  the  parish.  Old  Mrs.  Varberg,  who 
regards  her  husband  as  an  oracle,  is  also 
gradually  relenting.  Mrs.  Elder  has  at  last 
become  convinced  that  the  Norwegians  are  not 
identical  with  the  Laplanders. 

The  last  three  entries  I  prefer  to  quote  in  the 
language  of  my  original. 

September  10. — To-day  we  received  a  cable 
telegram  from  Ruth's  father.  He  intends  to 
start  with  a  Cunarder  to-morrow,  and  promises 
to  be  here  in  time  for  the  wedding. 

September  12. — There  is  a  rumor  afloat,  that 
Colonel  Haraldson  has  promised  his  daughter  to 

Lieutenant  P ,  who  writes  in  grandfather's 

office. 

September  15. — Yesterday  grandmother  made 


Conclusion.  301 

a  large  party  for  Ruth  and  me.  Half  the  parish 
was  invited,  and  Ruth  thinks  it  was  a  very  mag- 
nificent affair.  Grandfather  gave  the  toast, 
which  he  ended  with  these  words ;  "  And  now 
may  God  bless  you,  my  children,  be  it  in  Nor- 
way or  in  America."  I  translated  the  speech  in 
a  whisper  to  Ruth,  and  she  thought  it  wonder- 
fully eloquent.  It  was  very  different  from  the 
way  grandfather  used  to  talk  about  America 
before  she  came,  and  she  gloried  the  more  in  the 
change  because  she  naturally  assumed  to 
herself  the  credit  of  having  converted  him. 


THE  END. 


